When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Ninety-Three - Just Be My Good Girl

NINETY-THREE

Just Be My Good Girl

Once Tristan is near Catherine again, mere seconds after his decision not to harm his designs upon her, the hard pinch upon her body of thumb and neighbour belonging to one of his hands, which he commanded to strike where none of those designs are upon her skin, makes Catherine want to scream out, but she wills herself to clench her teeth instead, and thus manages to stop almost every sound.

"Don't do that again," her master most menacingly warns her, lips next to one of her ears, fingers, unrelenting.

When whimpering nevertheless does escape Catherine, when almost inaudible moaning nonetheless does reach her master's ears despite her continuing efforts, she instantly senses more of his displeasure.

“See, I have a list of our midnight-special guests-to-be," Tristan continues, "but now I have to figure out who I have to bump off it so that little idiot can have a spot. Because I don’t want to go over a certain number, because it’s not as much fun, then. Because concentration is no doubt best. Intensity. So, Lovely, get a f---in’ hold of yourself and, of all things, don’t do anything where acceptable restitution can and must apply. Am I clear? At least clearer than that d--n blur in your mind, right now?”

Tristan’s powerful, formidable voice, even if only in almost a whisper, nevertheless echoes loudly in Catherine’s head and increases her pain by much.            

“Lovely,” he repeats, when not an inch of her moves to acknowledge his words.

“Ouch,” she whispers, about her physical pain, which his fingers have just increased by tightening up and squeezing even more, but also about the ache now in her head as well. “Sir,” she then finds herself adding.

“Ouch, sir?”

Restitution? More rules that masters left out, then, Catherine manages to consider, ignoring healer.

“Lovely, no slapping, no harming the females in any way that makes me have to cover your a--. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Sir.”

So I can slap or harm the masters, then? The resentful part of Tristan’s female, fuelled by the pain being inflicted upon her and more, snaps back. But thankfully, not vocally.

“Sorry,” she apologizes out loud instead, overpowering that part of her.

“You know that that’s not good enough.”

“And you know that I’m tired, and that . . .” She stops, after slipping. “Sorry, sir.”

“Not good enough, Catherine. Dig deep.”

“What?”

“Really, really deep, and make me happy. That’s your only hope right now, after everything that you’ve just done that’s pissed me off. And I’m willing to wipe the slate clean, no punishment, if you just make me happy by the time this weekend ends. So dig deep,” Tristan repeats.

Catherine manages to frown, despite her face already being contorted, distorted, as she continues to wince in pain.

So, you won’t use the second midnight special to punish me? Well, to punish me more, because it’s already a punishment even in its mildest of forms, mild only according to masters, to men, and to women who’ve lost their nature, which I will NOT lose, she breathlessly vows, despite the pain at her master’s hands complicating every line of thought. When the disgusting men that Tristan chose exactly because he knew that Catherine would find them objectionable manage to quickly take a bow in her mind, taunting her, Catherine refocuses. What list? What men?