When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Eighty-Five - Disturbing Peace

EIGHTY-FIVE

Disturbing Peaceful

When the remaining guest master leaves Tristan’s station after contributing to his weekend submissive’s body art following Catherine’s “care,” she glares at him. Uncontrollably.

“That look in a woman’s eyes that a man thinks is desire for him, for his dick, when what she’s really thinking about is hurting him, it,” she recalls her writer-friend telling her, “when that imagining is the only thing that ever rouses a look of interest in a woman’s eyes anymore, when she’s forced by expectation to be intimate with a man, so he can come and then believe that life is worth living because he did, while she believes that it isn’t precisely because of this absurdity, well, that’s sad. But oh, how men are truly without a clue, misinterpreting women’s eyes. They misread mine all the time.”

Wipe that look off your face. Now. No extremes, healer warns her.

When Catherine’s eyes meet Tristan’s, the latter dare her to be as hateful towards him, to glare at him as well. When she manages not to do such a thing and looks away, he rises from the cot in his station, steps towards her, and begins to design upon her once more.

Since Tristan directed his gifting to her abdomen, Catherine can once again choose to observe him as he works, and, when she finally does so, giving in to her curiosity after resisting as long as she could, she tells herself that, since the rules of smudging as the weekend has progressed have been proven not to be as strict as submissives were first led to believe, then perhaps the rule of full coverage of a totem, of a canvas, of a body may not be as strict as well, since Tristan chose to work on an area of her body that could have passed as completed, in her opinion. She now doubts that he will be able to cover all of her with his designs before the contest ends and the judging begins.

Peaceful. Combo hour, and it’s peaceful, healer points out, as Catherine remains perfectly still in the hands of her designer. Such gentle movements of his hand. Such light touches.

What has gotten into you? You’re supposed to be on my side. And of course designing on me has returned him to a better mood, Tristan being Tristan. Artist and possessor, among other things. But I’m not in a better mood. How can Vivian have regretted leaving a master who demoted and rejected her? How ridiculous is women’s love!

A sound entices Catherine out of her thoughts and she turns her face in its direction.

Why is it that a man will and can stop himself from hitting his boss, or a woman on the bus who angers him, or anyone else but his wife? Catherine wonders, when her eyes explain the sound by showing her that a master has just sent his weekend play thing to the floor. And it’s so much worse when a man hits his wife, because his mate should be able to trust him and he should be protective of her. And the women who defend such men -- mostly young women, which once again supports why men so love young women, due to their idiocy and willingness to be brainwashed and to defend abusers -- imagine how that makes men feel, that some women believe that it’s okay for men to hit women to unconsciousness, to cause them brain injury, concussions, and to treat women like nothings. And an abuser doesn’t even care, when his wife goes down. He’ll step over her without even checking to see if she’s okay. He’ll drag her knocked-out body away without a hint of care, if she has to be moved. He won’t kneel next to her. He feels so entitled as a man over a female that . . . 

Catherine, close the file. That man is not that woman’s mate. Just a master and a non-refundable.

How can breasts and dicks be what rule the world, and what ruin it, by making it such a dark and empty place? S*x sells, everyone says and uses as an excuse. Yeah, it sells out women. Grow up, all of you.