When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

One Hundred and Four - T

ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR

T

“Lovely, I really think that your full attention should be on me,” Tristan repeats.

His female finally looks up, but does not quite focus on her master.

Why am I composing? She drowsily wonders instead.

Tristan?

Affecting me? No way, Catherine returns to healer.

Well, the room you’re in. Fearing what he’ll do.

Thanks for reminding me.

It had to be done. I strongly recommend that your attention remain in the room, Catherine.

But there’s so much to escape from, right now.

“I won’t be here for my master to take it all out on me,” she recalls Vivian sharing with her, in the tunnel.

Take out what? All of what? But I am here. So . . . And no one will ever seek justice for me. Lost ear, lost tongue. But I will lose everything. One wrong word from me, and it begins. The end does. Can you think of a way out, healer? It’s obvious that it doesn’t matter to Tristan, now, what talking will do to my face, to his designs. It’s obvious because my lying here tells me that his behaviour isn’t limited anymore by my art, and that can only mean that he doesn’t care anymore at all, about anything about me.

“Lovely, seriously?”

Catherine’s fearful eyes focus upon her master.

“That’s better. A good master is in control at all times, especially when disciplining. If he loses control, that’s when his submissive gets injured. Or worse. You should trust me. Trust your master.”

I never trust you. Your coldness . . . And now . . .

When her master leaves her side, much races through Catherine’s mind concerning what will happen next. What she soon feels, however, does not result from the occurrence of any of the dreadful things that just paraded through her mind as evoked by items seen in the room, since what she most unexpectedly feels is a feather gently caressing the sole of one of her feet.

I’m barefoot, she realizes. It is the first time in hours and hours that Catherine is off her feet, and in even longer than that that she is free of her high-heel boots, but her predicament does not allow her to find delight in either, even after longing so very much for both.

“Is a feather punishment, Lovely?” Tristan asks, as the feather continues its trek upon her body.

Depends on the hand that holds it, Catherine does not dare reply out loud.

“Pain by laughter. Death due to the inability to breathe, while laughing so hard. While coughing so hard . . .” Pause. “I know how to masterfully use every single item in this room, Lovely. I’ve done it all before. I even practiced in this very room, on mostly unwilling subjects. And I have to admit that I did mess up, when I was learning. Hand and finger impressions left around necks. Bruising left everywhere. And such bloody messes. Open wounds. Hemorrhaging. Damaged organs. Lost limbs. And on and on. But lucky for you, I’m really good at it all, now. At all the arts of this room. Pity that, since there’s so little time left during this master/canvas hour, I won’t be able to show you today.”