SIXTEEN

The Old Master’s Blessing

An older master enters the work station just as Tristan liberates the part of him that is so very eager to take Catherine, to experience profoundly intense culminating pleasure after possessing her. Catherine feels most awkward and uncomfortable as this older man studies her body in its present position, which is on hands and knees, before finally turning his attention to Tristan. She fights the powerful urge to just fall onto the cot, onto her abdomen, in order to hide herself in that way, as well as to protect herself from her master’s sexual intent. But that would just result in piling punishment on top of punishment, and she knows better.

Is this how it’s going to be from now on, then, even out there?  You, deciding what happens to my body, not only at your hands now, but at other men’s? She hates to think.

Tristan manages to control his impatience at the man’s intrusion, and, in order to acknowledge him, turns his face away from Catherine’s beckoning rear cheeks, from immediately setting forth on his exhilarating ride there. Tristan is fully erect, harder than hard, fiercely stiff, and would love to instead bash the old master’s skull in for this interruption. Nothing personal . . .

“I’m so happy to see that you’ve embraced the one true way, the only natural way for any man-female relationship,” the older master congratulates Tristan. “You’ve learned, by being among us, that it makes for a much happier life, both for you and for your chosen female. Masters know that what they consider to be the right thing for their submissive always is. It’s just in our nature to know. We feel it. The rules, the limits to place upon females, the necessary leash, corrections. And a female is most fulfilled when fulfilling her master.” Pause. “Since this is the first time that you participate in one of our bigger events with a true submissive, rather than a non-refundable, an older master has to bless and recognize your masterhood, and ensure that your submissive will serve you well,” the man announces, before turning to look at Catherine once again. “She is lovely,” he comments, his eyes travelling her body once more, from neck to thighs, and up again along her back, and then, along her front, once he has adjusted his head and line of vision.

Tristan’s impatience adds to his anger.

“Proceed,” the older master finally tells him.

Catherine moans when Tristan does, and not a pleasant kind of moan. She shuts her eyes tightly and her entire body tenses up with pain as he enters from behind, and not by way of natural male-female connection. She bites her bottom lip as he pushes himself within her with only a little slip and slide applied, following a mere moment’s thought by him in his angry state, and, therefore, a mere moment’s doing by his hand as well, before he approached himself to penetrate her.

As he continues to rather slowly slip himself in and out between her two lower mounds of flesh, she curses the small noises that continue to escape from her throat, despite her best efforts not to let him have them for his satisfaction. She cannot numb herself to this sexual option, however, no part of her can. She wonders how many women are fans of this variation, but cannot remain within her mind to think, to escape, since what Tristan is doing to her will not allow it.

“We’re doing this right off because you didn’t obey me,” he explains to her, as his manhood continues on its path to bliss, while she is guided down one of pain. “I was actually going to be nice.”

You don’t know what the word means! She screams at him in her mind, her pain and discomfort fuelling her. She curses the additional sounds that are allowed to escape from her throat due to her loss of control during the inner release of that emotion.

“I was planning to start by designing your legs, your thighs, and just the front, so you could sit, so you could rest without smudging my art,” he adds, “but then you disobeyed me. You embarrassed me. So you get this punishment, which it purely is, because I didn’t want this right off. And now, I’ll be starting my designing on your ass instead, which means no sitting, no lying down, no fucking the way that you like it, no off your feet, and no resting, for forty-eight hours. And in those heels. And you’re going to do it for me, to apologize, to make it up to me, and because you want to, because nothing’s too good for your master, who gives you so much. This weekend is for you, after all, to have you realize your worth by having me devoted to you like this for forty-eight hours, giving you so much of me,” he adds, all the while thrusting. “I expect appreciation. Gratitude. And now. Because you don’t want to be indebted to me later. Not a good idea for anyone,” he adds, before wondering if this is enough of a punishment for what she did.

Fucking the way that I like it? I like it? Ever? Are you insane?!

Tristan pushes himself deeper, before pulling her backwards towards him as well, which makes Catherine wince intensely, contort her face fiercely.

When he moans, his sounds are of enjoyment, of course. Deep, coursing delight all over his mind and body as he feels and sees himself in and out of her while completely controlling her body, and as he enthusiastically, hungrily anticipates the bliss to come. He savours the moments of seeing the edge of the cliff, and then not, and then again, this early on in his undertaking, knowing that thrusting will eventually bring him close enough to it for it to be a constant, and then, after that, that the continued stroking of his manhood will finally throw him over it, making the fall, the motion of it, that tightening, that release, and all of the other wonderful sensations of climaxing sweep over him.

While this process, this progression, is underway for him, it is not for Catherine, whose mind manages to open up a file despite the pain, a file that has nothing to do with savouring. “When it comes to that variation, there is his heartlessness to consider, due to the harm that is often done to her during the act, physical and other, an act that will also likely be the cause of more harm to come later on, and there is his self-centeredness and selfishness to consider as well, because there is another way with a woman, one that she can enjoy as well. But there is also the spitefulness of it, due to many men enjoying this sexual option exactly for those very reasons. Because it’s purely all about them, the men,” Catherine vaguely recalls the writer-prostitute saying.  “And then, of course, plainly, without psychoanalyzing the straight men who do it and the state of the so-called hetero-relationships that endure it, it just hurts. I guess men must have tougher asses,” she remembers the woman adding, smiling, as she referred to gay men.

An increase in pain returns Catherine to reality once again. I have to do “everything,” she reminds herself, while working at “even,” despite the awful sensation upon her, despite the pain.

She is hurt every time, when this sexual option is forced upon her, due to Tristan’s width at one junction, and to his depth. She does not know if there is just something about Tristan, or if she would experience the same with any man. Or maybe there is just something about her. She does know, however, that her body does not become any more accommodating with repetition. She constantly tells herself that that might be a good thing, in the end, in order to prevent incontinence, because she is certain that stretched behinds sooner or later allow for bowel movements to occur without control, but thinking of that possible plus side of her body refusing to be accommodating when Tristan takes her in his manner is of little consolation while the pain is all over her.

One more strike of peaking pain and Catherine’s body seeks to give in to Tristan’s pushes in order to ease the aching of being assailed in this way. His strong hands, however, forbid it by keeping her steady and immobile, except for her body’s response to his pushing. They keep her right where he wants her, in order not only to insure his pleasure, but to maximize it as well. She feels so very possessed by him as he pulls back upon her upper body once again, while keeping her so very well under his complete control, being within her in this way. A flash of the serial killer’s knife returns to her, when she was held in that van a year ago. The feel of it. She had known then to stop struggling, when its sharp edge was so close to her. She knows now that struggling will only increase the pain.

When Tristan’s hands wander from their oppressive duty, Catherine enjoys nothing of their caresses. She is aware that he is most stimulated by this undertaking on the cot, in this crowded room, with eyes watching. She knows that whatever the reason for this manner of penetration, whether punishment or not for her, his enjoyment was always assured, a sure thing.

Our every physical combining is exclusively about your body and your pleasure. Fine. But you can’t have my mind, she repeats, when she feels one of his hands appreciate her long hair, rather than pull on it.  His staff’s movement within her, however, as well as his body’s behind her, do not allow her to feel that embrace for long. Her hatred of the sounds that continue to escape her, that continue to reveal his power to him and to add to his enjoyment, as she sees it, rises in her.

“You have my blessing,” the older master tells Tristan, surprising Catherine, who believed the man gone. This master, however, is standing next to the cot, and, therefore, right next to Tristan, who has been ignoring him. From this proximity, the older man is so very much involved in the couple’s doing that he could imagine himself within Catherine, and happily did.

Pathetic, dirty old man, Catherine judges, wincing as Tristan manipulates her in a certain way, as his prized organ does. She is then very much annoyed to see the man’s body before her, at the head of the cot.

“Look at me,” he tells her.

Uh, no. I have enough to deal with right now.

Tristan’s power over her, however, forces her to reconsider, by way of pain inflicted. Catherine therefore raises her head, and then her eyes, towards the man’s. Her eyes are cold eyes, Catherine eyes, and the man’s face reacts to them. He instantly attempts to clear his throat, but fails, and consequently loses the ability to speak for a moment.

Need a double-dose? Here!

The older master, however, regains control of himself.

The power of this collective and its rules, no doubt, Catherine concludes.

“Now you,” the older master tells her.

After seconds of her silence, Catherine’s body is made to pay for this absence of words by way of Tristan’s physical command, which makes her tense up all over, but she, however, does not know what the old man wants from her, and so, she must remain silent. Tristan pauses his thrusting.

“His come sustains you,” the old master then guides her. “Tell him how much you need it, and want it, and how grateful you are every time that he is so wonderful in allowing you to have it. How much you love its taste, and the feel or sight of it leaving his body to travel to yours, to nurture you, whether by mouth, by ass, or by pussy. You’re nothing without it. And this weekend is heavenly bliss for you.”

And the insanity continues.

Tristan yanks on Catherine’s hair yet again when she does not speak, his body continuously and repeatedly reminding her of its control over hers. He reminds her of it every day, in so many different ways, but when he is within her in this manner, his every move is a reminder. She therefore puts words together, despite the continuing sensation that she so desperately wants ended.

“I love your come,” she begins, breathlessly, in a voice that has an unexpected shakiness to it that she knows that she must correct. Tristan resumes his thrusting, the expression on his face revealing the pleasant anticipation of the wonderful and intense sensation that is now hinting at soon possessing him. “When you come to me, I’m so grateful that you want to give it to me. I need it so much. I crave it so much. I want it every minute of every day. And this weekend is such a blessing for me because . . . because I will have so much of it,” she adds, her voice still somewhat shaky, but perfectly so, as if the subject of her words grips her so very much that her voice is affected by the emotion.   “I’m nothing without your come. Incomplete, starving. Without your attentive and selfless nurturing of my pussy, my ass, my mouth. I’m so thankful. When I feel your come’s warmth in my mouth as it spews out, its deliciousness, I always wish that there were more, more of you for me to swallow and have within me. When I feel it exiting me, slipping out of me by pussy or ass, I always hate that my body doesn’t know to keep all of your precious come within it, after you so generously put it there.  I love seeing it. There’s nothing more beautiful than the sight of you giving me your come, allowing it to reach me, my body, wherever you choose to have it embrace me. It’s all that I need to see, right?”

A sound fuelled by deep appreciation escapes the old master, and surprises him as it does. The noise makes Catherine lower her face and eyes once again,  since she has completed her ode to come, and since she does not want to see any part of that man. On Tristan's face, a small smile, in a corner of his mouth. If Catherine could see this smile, she would enjoy that small reaction of his lips, that small hint, clue, upon them.

Instead, she is miserably aware that even more masters are watching now, that her voice, her words, attracted more of them to look. Some non-refundables are also observing, unwilling to miss seeing Tristan Maller in sexual action, finding it impossible to resist doing so when he is so very close to them, and resenting the impossibility of their eyes getting their fill, if they are presently unfortunately engaged in working on their weekend master’s first contribution of creative material. Indeed, what fan would not want to see her idol climax, when being so close to him, in such a situation? And in Tristan’s case, not just fans, but almost every woman laying eyes on the hot, handsome young man. And of course, fan or not, the women have all judged him on the size of his manhood when erect, and all have judged him most favourably. Catherine, however, has to allow that sizeable sceptre in where it is within her right now, and she is therefore most certainly not in any kind of appreciative mood.

Stop soaking it all in and come already. Nothing that your hands do take my pain away, Tristan, no caressing, no massaging. Oh, but there I go again, thinking that you ever think of anyone else but yourself. Your hands have no other purpose other than pleasing themselves. Pleasing you. Please, end this awful feeling. This threat of loss of control, of a mess, that I must not allow, that I must fight to control. This sensation that words just don’t . . .

She closes her eyes when a part of her mind dares to show her Tristan on top of her, on this very cot. There is no pain as she imagines what could have been, if she had obeyed, if she had not become frozen in fear when commanded by her master to undress. She quickly opens them up again. Would’ve just delayed this pain. You’re no silly old man, or other kind of dysfunctional idiot, Tristan. Just come.

You’re being punished. And he’s obviously thoroughly in the moment, enjoying it, soaking it in, like you said, healer replies.

Now I’m talking to myself during sex. That must make me insane.

Even, Catherine.

You don’t have to deal with Tristan’s big cock up your . . .

I doubt that this punishment will be enough. That his ego will be satisfied.

If you don’t have anything nice to say, just go away. Stay away, she replies. I have to stop talking to myself like this . . .

Tristan pulls his loaded member out of Catherine a few seconds after her last spoken word, and she instantly feels relief at his manhood vacating her. He is still experiencing the blissful ecstasy of orgasm when he exits her, and soon disgorges upon the outer sides of the cheeks of her rear what his body is so very thrilled to be expelling with such intensity and might. Catherine registers by feel that what Tristan is producing is indeed impressive in volume and force, and even feels some of it rise to her lower back. Art on those sides of her rear will make it impossible for her to sit, but not impossible for her to be taken from behind again, since there will not be enough smudging during such an act to disqualify her from the competition.

After a moment of recovering from the intensity of the drug-enhanced experience, and after the older master has collected on his fingers some of Tristan’s creative material that landed on Catherine’s body, the artist reaches for the first kind of fixative and sprays it upon his ejaculate. The older master then presents his fingers for Catherine to lick off, his face lit with expectation, and she knows that she is expected to take in what is upon those fingertips as if she cannot stand the thought of wasting one drop of Tristan’s production. She looks at the man’s hand again, much more disgusted by those fingers than by what they are presenting to her. After a moment, she allows them into her mouth and removes her master from them, while the old man thoroughly enjoys having his digits within her, and sucked on.

“You have my blessing as well,” he then tells her, when his fingers are returned to him. He pats Tristan on the back and walks away from the station.

One of Tristan’s eyebrows arches up.

The departure of the older master signals to the men who were watching to return their attention to their own canvas, and when they do, even though the men themselves were watching Catherine, the many temporary-submissives who were watching Tristan are slapped or hit for their “inappropriate” behaviour, with the resulting sound of all that simultaneous striking echoing almost like that of applause, and performer Tristan Maller is no stranger to applause . . . It is not the first time either that, while attending such an event, he has received more attention than masters usually get.

If a true submissive took a look, she was discreet about it. These women have more leeway, rather than less, since they are true and have been recognized as thus, but they are never recognized as behaving perfectly well, however. The truth is that that would be impossible for any submissive to do, since masters have whims, but that is never mentioned. Instead, masters constantly speak of the need for patience with even the best of subservients, since they are, after all, “merely female.” Men being “males” never comes into the equation.

“That was so fuckin’ intense,” Tristan comments, as he pulls up his pants.

Catherine feels some throbbing still and remains on her knees only, since Tristan pulled her off her hands and completely back towards him as he possessed her. His eyes now find the deposits of material that he created, but he is not quite ready yet to move on from his climax, as it somewhat echoes still. When he finally is, his face changes, and he instructs Catherine to return to her hands as well. He then reaches for certain tools in order to begin fashioning his art. Paint brushes, Q-tips, toothpicks, among other items. No finger-painting.            

Complete calmness returns to Catherine, as it always does, despite the fact that this manner of taking her ranks right up there on her list of what Tristan Maller does to drive her insane. Most women would have a list of cute and charming and nice things that the hot Tristan-persona does that drives them crazy. But not Catherine.

As she remains perfectly still on her hands and knees while Tristan designs, her eyes look towards a station where a very large-breasted woman, although naturally so, is at this very moment being coated over those large mounds by creative material. Catherine ignores the master’s climax face and instead registers the copious amount of fluid spewed out, which she now witnesses, after having felt it, by way of Tristan’s contribution a moment ago. “Ejaculate cannot be collected from elsewhere and then redirected to another area of the canvas’s body. It must arrive fresh from the master’s body upon every inch of the female’s body. It must be shot onto her and designed where it lands,” Catherine learned during the host’s speech.

The living-canvas then sends her eyes to the right and sees another top-heavy woman, but this time, one who has gone too far in her superficial endeavour to be ogled by all males. This non-refundable is being worked on by her much older “artist,” and Catherine therefore sees what it looks like when the released material that is first altered a little by the first fixative is then fashioned.

Everywhere that she looks, nude women are being manipulated in this way or that, or are themselves doing this or that to their master, and are then climaxed upon. No man remains with anything exposed after his ejaculate is where it should be on his canvas, and, therefore, dropped pants, or merely unzipped pants, are consequently zipped up or pulled up again, and then the fully-clothed masters tend to that creative material. The natural odour faintly in the room becomes blended with the scent of the first fixative. Both scents will become stronger as the weekend advances, with the second fixative, however, of a much stronger odour.

Catherine finds peace during the time that it takes Tristan to design his art upon her. Her position is awkward, and the tickling of his tools upon that part of her body is as well, but her position on her hands and knees offers her body some cover, which she appreciates, and, furthermore, Tristan is not behaving in an angry way at this moment, which is always a good thing. Two plusses. She has learned to appreciate such brief moments in her life.

Once Tristan is pleased with his art, he uses the second kind of fixative to secure his now designer-ejaculate onto his submissive, to make it stay put. He then reaches for a water bottle and drinks all of its content, maintaining his eyes on Catherine’s behind, and on her first markings, as he does. There are water bottles everywhere in the ballroom, since fluid must first enter the masters’ bodies in some way, in order to exit it as ejaculate later.

The fixative smell makes Catherine feel light-headed for a moment, but she is careful not to let Tristan see, as he drops his slip-on protective glasses back into the kit-bag, which is on the table. Masters will not severely hurt their eyes using that spray, but not due to the protection of those glasses. The latter, however, prevent burning and pain. Knowledge of what constitutes true protection against this fixative is purposefully left unmentioned in order to bait someone. Anyone. Leaving masters to wonder who will win the door prize this weekend.

“Get up,” Tristan instructs Catherine, after turning towards her and looking into her eyes now, rather than at her other end. “Carefully. Get on your pedestal.”

Whereas he speaks the words of care because he wants his art protected, she gets up carefully first and foremost because she still feels some pain following his presence within her. There is still coldness in his tone of voice and she concludes that the punishment was not enough. I knew better. If I just hadn’t become frozen. I knew that there was no escaping ending up nude. If I had just been able to undress right off . . .

Two steps to the pedestal, and Catherine realizes that she must use the small two-step stand in order to take her place. Tristan stands by her as she climbs up, just in case.

There is a bar that can be hooked up to the pedestal in order that the submissive upon it hold on to it, but none of the masters have attached the accessory yet. The bar reaches up to most women’s waist in height, measures two feet in length, and is arched, since it follows the curvature of the circular pedestal. The two poles that hold it up, that support it, insert in two slots on the bottom of the display structure.

Once Catherine is standing upon the stylish platform as ordered, and in a specific way as instructed by Tristan, her master studies her there, up and down, and back again, before sitting on the cot, and relaxing. She then sees his eyes once again seek and find amusement, entertainment, titillation and more, here and there, in this or that act or post-act, out of the many that continue to occur all around him in the stations closest to his, right there within his line of sight. So much to see. The screens soon add their own contribution, after most masters have climaxed.

As for Catherine, from her present show position, still nude except for her boots, and now with a smidgen of art upon her, she feels nothing amusing, entertaining, nor titillating, as she is ogled by men who will be around her at those neighbouring stations for the next forty-eight hours, and also by men who now walk up and down aisles in order to see more, the men who can leave their submissive because she is a non-refundable.

She finds little comfort in knowing that Tristan will not leave her side.

Little comfort in knowing that she is a true submissive.

And much horror in seeing so much from her show position, as well as in so much of her being seen. She works hard at not allowing her face to reveal just how sick she feels, how vulnerable and empty.

Because it is clear to her that punishments, this weekend, have the potential to be more horrific than they have ever been at Tristan’s hands.

Even.  

Author's Note:

1. Demons Not Redeemed offers passages that may be over the PG-13 line. It is rated Restricted. I'm just not sure where the line is, however. The Internet offers so much worse, and all visual, without need of words to process, and all accessible to kids.