Catriona's Golden Angel [Prometheus in Chains 6] (Siren Publishing Classic) (2 page)

She was sitting at the bar, talking to Eric, who, for some reason best known to himself, had decided to do bar duty from time to time, when there was a disturbance over by the spanking benches. She stood up, with her feet on the supports of the bar stool, but could see nothing. Prometheus didn’t like disturbances, so he would deal with it. He had extra monitors on tonight, too, so no need for her to worry.

She was wrong. Her Angel was brought over to the bar area on his way out into the foyer and the men’s locker room. His back was a mess. Her ropes had been cut off his chest and back, and someone, who didn’t know what they were doing, had whipped him. His back was cut, and he was bleeding and almost unconscious. Catriona was furious. She couldn’t go into the men’s locker room, although she had got down off her stool and was heading that way, when Torquil, the Dungeon Master, took her arm to stop her. She almost lost it. She had raised her other arm to strike him, when she realised who he was.

“Catriona,
stop. Come here
!” he said in his firm voice.

He took her back to the bar, and Eric gave her water.

“What the hell happened in there?” she asked.

“There was an argument. The sub didn’t want the harness cut off, but the Dom insisted. Then the Dom said punishment was due, because the sub hadn’t obeyed him. The sub really had no choice, and so was put on the St Andrew’s cross. The Dom got a singletail, and had wielded it three times on the sub, before the dozy monitor realised that he had no skill with it. In fact, it was the first time the Dom had used one, and he nearly injured himself with the whip and those watching, too,” Torquil said.

“Well when I get to him, he’ll wish he had.” Catriona growled.

“No, you don’t have the right. Prometheus is explaining things to him and, if the sub wants to, he can press charges. There’s a doctor here, and he’s attending to the wounds.”

Catriona was hard-pressed not to run into the locker room to see for herself. Prometheus’s office door opened, and he came out, followed by two large Doms, flanking the mean one, who looked chastened. The Doms escorted him out of the club.

Soon, her Angel came out of the locker room and went into Prometheus’s office. She wished she could go in and hear what was being said, but she had to wait. Then he came out, and she went over to him and took his hand. Ignoring the rest, she led him to a quiet area, and had him sit down next to her on the sofa. Gently she stroked the fingers of the hand she had not let go of. “Is that man your Dom?” she asked. She waited, anxiously, for his answer.

“Do you wish me to address you as Mistress, Lady, or Ma’am?” he asked, looking down at his hand in hers.

“Mistress Catriona is what I prefer. That’s what subs usually call me.”

“Mistress Catriona, I don’t really know that Dom very well. He’s a friend of a friend, and asked if I’d come here with him tonight. I wanted to see this new club, so I accepted.”

She let out the breath she realised she’d been holding in. There was no obstacle in her way then.

“I’ll get you out of the rest of those ropes, and you can put your thong back on if you like,” she offered.

“I loved the ropes, and wanted to keep them on. That’s why there was a problem. Now he has ruined them for me, so best take them off, if it please you, Mistress Catriona.”

She cut off the ropes and disposed of them. She, too, felt they were tainted, and wouldn’t want to use them again, even if they had not had Angel’s blood on them, so they couldn’t be used for any other sub without a lot of cleaning, which was no easy task with Asanawa rope. At the very least, they would bring back the memory of his injury at the hands of that man.

The usual Gregorian chant came over the sound system. It was soothing, calming, bringing the mood down. It was Prometheus’s way of saying his club was closing soon. The final track of the night would be Cream’s “White Room.” One of Prometheus’s favourites.

“Please, Mistress Catriona, may I see you again? Outside the club, in order to get to know you better?” Angel asked.

Catriona was very pleased. She wanted this, but she wanted her Angel to ask. If he hadn’t, she would have done so, but it was better if he asked. “Certainly, how about a coffee tomorrow? What time suits you?” she asked.

Catriona arrived at the coffee shop on time. She was pleased to see he was waiting for her. He was formally dressed in an elegant business suit, with a white linen shirt and old rose silk tie. His hair was shining in the sun as he stood to welcome her and held out the chair for her. He asked her what she would like and went to get it for her, bringing a slice of lemon cake with it. He’d collected brown and white sugar, a fork for the cake, and napkins. She was pleased with his attention to detail, and his obvious desire to serve her. As she sipped her coffee and ate her cake, she looked at him. His gaze fell when their eyes met.

“Look at me, Angel,” she said.

Startled, he met her gaze.

“My name is Adrian Webster,” he said.

“You look like an Angel, so I will call you Angel,” she replied, and she could tell he was pleased.

He only had half an hour before he had to be back at work, but he asked if she’d meet him for lunch. She had things to do in town, so she agreed and, at 12:30 p.m., he was waiting for her outside Zizi’s, the Italian restaurant she had chosen. They went in. She was pleased to see he had reserved a table for them. Once seated, and the menus in their hands, they began to debate what to eat.

“Arancini is very good here, but the calamari is superb, too,” she remarked.

“Let’s have one of each, and we can share,” he suggested.

“What about to drink?” the waiter asked.

She chose mineral water, and Angel agreed, saying he had to work. He made it a rule not to drink at lunchtime, if he was working. Catriona was even more pleased. She never drank when she worked and, in the club, drank only water.

“Where do you work, Angel?”

“I am head of human resources at Parkgate Cutlery, one of the few remaining firms that make cutlery in Sheffield.”

“Do you enjoy your work?”

“Yes, I do. I find it stressful sometimes but always different and challenging.”

“How did you get into the lifestyle?”

“I went to a public school. On my eighteenth birthday, as was the custom, I was taken to a BDSM club. I found I liked it and went back on my own. I met an older man, a Dom. He took me in hand and I learned I was submissive. He was very kind and caring. I was lucky.”

“Indeed you were at that age to find such a Dom. Are you still in touch with him?”

“No, sadly he died, some years ago now.”

“How did you hear about Prometheus in Chains?”

“There was a flyer on the board in Davy Jones’s Locker, the club I usually go to. Then a friend of a friend asked me if I’d like to go with him, as he had an invitation.”

“The rest I know,” she said and smiled.

The first course was served. She cut up the arancini on her plate, offering him some on her fork. He bent his head and took the forkful, then his tongue came out, and he licked his lips. She felt her pussy flood and her nipples tighten. In his turn, he collected a couple of the smaller calamari rings on his fork and held them out to her, cupping his other hand just under her chin, to catch them if they fell. She found that so endearing. He had excellent manners. She ate the calamari, and some arancini, then offered him more of the rice ball which he ate. In his turn, he served her with calamari. She had never been so aroused by the simple act of feeding a sub and being fed in her turn. However, was she going to make it through the rest of the meal?

She did make it. It wasn’t so intense, she found, when they were feeding themselves.

“More water, Mistress Catriona?” He poured her water for her and kept her glass topped up. Her napkin fell to the floor.

“Let me get it for you.” He bent to retrieve it and placed it carefully across her knees.
His manners are something else.

“Thank you, my Angel, you make me feel so very special.”

“That’s because you are very special, Mistress Catriona.”

She felt herself blushing
. He’s a sub for God’s sake, why am I blushing at his comments?

“What did you do before you became a pro Domme?”

“The same as I do now. I am an accountant. I take care of the books at the club as part of my job.”

“How did you become an accountant?”

“I was born in Drumchapel, a poor area of Glasgow. At school I was good at Maths. My teacher, Miss Jepherson, helped me. She ran a youth club in the Drum and got me to join it. There she could help me more than at school. She encouraged me to work to better myself. When I left school she used her influence to get me a job where I could study for my accountancy exams.”

“A remarkable woman.”

“She is. I used to go and visit her every month. We had our special tea and discussed all manner of things. She taught me so much. She taught me manners, gave me advice on clothes, helped me to lose my broad accent and gave me confidence. I owe her a debt I can never repay.”

“I’d like to meet her one day.”

“I’d love you to meet her. You’d get on well with her.”

“Are your family still in Glasgow?”

“Yes, my parents still live in Drumchapel. They are happy there.”

“May I have your phone numbers please, Mistress Catriona?”

“This is my business card, I have written my personal numbers and e-mail address on the back,” she said as she offered him the small card. She noticed that he took out his wallet and tucked it carefully into one of the compartments.
So it’s special for him, too.

They parted. She went back to her flat in a daze. It had gone so well, and they seemed to hit it off to perfection. She told herself to go slow and see how it progressed
. Will he come to the club tonight?
How could he? He wasn’t a member, and the open night had been just that, a one-night taster.

She went to the club, and spent a less-than-perfect evening.

“Prometheus, if you’re short tonight, I can do dungeon monitor duty, for a while.”

“That’s a blessing, Catriona, love. I
am
short until I get a replacement. That stupid bloody man who was on duty yesterday won’t be here tonight.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I don’t think I could keep my hands off him. Whatever was he thinking?”

“I’ve no idea. I told him he won’t be welcome here again. If he wants to come back to the club, in any capacity at all, he’ll have to prove he’s had retraining.”

“Let’s hope it’s a long time before he decides to come back. We can well do without his sort, even if it means extra duty for the rest of us for a while.”

By the end of the evening, Catriona was restless and wanted nothing more than to go home to bed. No sub had caught her eye, so she hadn’t done a scene, and, although she had watched a few, nothing had pleased her.

She had e-mail waiting at home but only spam. As she didn’t need Viagra, or a penis enlargement, and had no account with the bank threatening to stop her account if she didn’t confirm her details, she deleted the lot and fell into bed. Her night was as restless as her evening had been. She awoke, still tired and pissed off with herself and the world in general. Time for coffee, before she bit off someone’s head. She was on her way to the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. Opening it, she was met by a bouquet with legs. She took it, thanked the girl, and carried it into the kitchen. There was a card, written in strong bold letters.

Thank you for a perfect lunch. I would like to see you again if I may.

Angel.

Her eyes misted as she read the signature. The flowers were a mixed bouquet in shades of yellow and bronze, carnations and chrysanthemums being the predominant flowers. He was way too wise, then, to send red roses for a first date. Cautious but decisive, that was always a good sign. She realised, with a self-deprecatory smile, that her mood had improved a great deal.

She had her coffee and was catching up on her chores when the phone rang. She answered it, expecting a “survey” or some other intrusion into her life, but the voice on the other end sent shivers down her spine.

“Hello, Mistress Catriona. I was wondering if my flowers had arrived?”

“Yes, Angel, they did. They’re beautiful, thank you.”

“Thank you, Mistress Catriona, for a lovely lunch.”

Catriona decided she must take charge now that he’d done all the correct things so far, just the way she liked it.

“I’d like to see you again, Angel, why don’t you come to the club tonight?”

“I’m not a member, Mistress Catriona.”

“I’ll leave a note at reception that you’re my guest,” she offered.

“Thank you, Mistress Catriona. Then it will be my pleasure.”

She was pleased to hear he didn’t gush or grovel. Sub he might be, doormat he wasn’t, and she didn’t like doormats.

She dressed with particular care that evening, laughing at herself as she looked in the mirror for the third time, and sprayed on a second application of her favourite perfume, Issey Miyake. That was a very appropriate perfume for a female rope Top. She hoped he liked it, as she didn’t want to give it up. She looked forward to the negotiations about such things,
if
it progressed so far. She had a feeling it would. She had thought he was
the one
when she first saw him, and nothing that had occurred so far had caused her to change her mind. Donning her emerald-green corset again, she settled it, and added her leather miniskirt and black patent boots with four-inch heels, reaching just over her knees. She put on a necklace of black jet, composed of layer after layer of beads, tapering to a final single bead that nestled between her breasts. She brushed out her long hair, and she was ready. Calling for a taxi, she donned the black raincoat, reaching down to her ankles. She buttoned it up and belted it tightly around her waist. She was ready!