When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Eighty-Seven - Over-lay

EIGHTY-SEVEN

Over-lay

“Tristan, a word?” Catherine and her master hear, when they reach the end of the row of stations that houses Tristan’s weekend space.

Catherine tenses up immediately and fears that this add-on to her unease will make her head split open. Why does that master wish to speak with Tristan and what danger does he therefore pose to her?

“Stay right here,” Tristan instructs her.

Catherine looks into his eyes and fears how different they will be, when he returns to her. She looks perhaps a little too long, since Tristan’s change a little already.

“You’re safe here,” he tells her, after his eyes have located the contest attendants more or less in her vicinity.

Seconds later, when the two men begin to converse a few feet away from the last station of the row, Catherine can tell that they are using muted voices.

That’s not a good sign. But would a master really just grab Tristan and tell him, right here, right now? Someone could overhear, and they’ve been keeping Vivian’s escape a secret, at least from the women, so . . .

As seconds that feel like minutes tick by and the men continue to converse, every thought that passes through Catherine’s mind sorts itself under one of three headlines that, if they are indeed currently being passed on to Tristan, will see her severely punished.

What he is saying? She is nervously repeating to herself when she realizes that the other master’s weekend submissive is glaring at her. Really? What did I do to you?

Catherine turns the whole of her body away in order to completely remove the woman from her line of sight, and the movement required to carry out that adjustment makes her realize that she once again feels light-headed, but in no way pleasantly now.

That kiss, a part of her cannot let go of, even now, even when something so much bigger is perhaps about to pounce upon her. Physical betrayal is exasperating. I . . . When I looked into Tristan’s eyes afterwards, I’m sure that I saw gloating there. Arrogant ass. That kiss stroked his mammoth ego, and . . . and I was just answering his pressing question, which had to be done, to keep him calm and even, and, therefore, to keep me safe. Safer.

Since physical unease soon intensifies even more throughout Catherine’s body, and in a most forceful way, she closes her eyes, and is then aghast to find herself most unexpectedly recalling Tristan sending a hand to her nether region, earlier on this weekend. She vividly remembers his fingers being aware of exactly where they should position themselves, and recalls just as clearly how expertly they set upon their one and only goal of generating her intimate gratification.

When it happened in real time, Catherine hated it, hated that all of Tristan’s attention was centered on her in that way, but this current memory-recall, however, resurrects no such emotion, and in fact provides a new voiceover that includes none of those negative sentiments. Thus, no part of her objects, at first, as her body tenses up with expectation, as her lower junction  makes her feel weak, tingles, and awaits pleasurable release. But then, her mind manages to impose reason, logic upon the imagining, and Catherine therefore soon opens her eyes, wishing to shake off the odd recall. Since those orbs, however, without her conscious command for them to do so, instantly find Tristan, she is prevented from shutting the door to the projection room. Her annoyance is not assuaged any by the realization that her nether area is once more moistened.