Catriona's Golden Angel [Prometheus in Chains 6] (Siren Publishing Classic) (3 page)

Luckily, she was not on dungeon monitor duty tonight. Prometheus was in the process of rearranging the roster and would see that all Doms affected got one, by the next evening, he said. Eric was behind the bar, and he whistled as she stalked into the club.

“Oh my, Catriona. Someone is in for it tonight.”

She laughed at him as she looked around the room. It was early yet, so she didn’t expect Angel any time soon, but she was mistaken. Over in the uncollared subs area, he was sitting chatting to the other subs. She walked over, and they all fell to their knees.

“Come with me, Angel,” she said. He got up and followed her over to a secluded armchair. Like several others, a Japanese painted screen provided a measure of privacy from the rest of the main room. She sat in the chair, and indicated the large cushion on the floor.

“Kneel,” she said. He knelt on the cushion.

“We have to talk tonight, Angel, and in the club, as it’s about us as Domme and sub.”

She well knew what she wanted in a sub. She wanted honesty and intelligence, but above all a sense of humour. She needed him to be articulate and willing to try new things. She wanted him to respect her, but to want the respect going both ways. She’d found that men, in general, were more articulate, less passive, and more willing to ask for what they wanted. She’d had female subs but preferred a man.

“Yes, Mistress Catriona,” he replied, as he gazed into her eyes. For a moment she lost the thread of what she had intended to say. She was lost in his large hazel eyes. Then the Domme took over, and she began negotiations.

“You have no Dom?”

“No, Mistress Catriona.”

“Could you be happy with a female?”

“Undoubtedly, Mistress Catriona. I prefer Dommes.”

“Why is that, Angel?”

“I prefer women to men. I’ve been with men, but vastly prefer a woman. I want a Domme. I know I’m submissive and I need a Domme to guide me. My job is stressful. I have to make decisions which affect people in a positive, but also in a negative way. I want to have someone who will guide me, in my time at work and away from work.”

She was pleased with his full answer. He’d thought about it, evidently.

“I don’t want a slave,” she stated categorically.

“I don’t want to be a slave, but I am looking for a 24/7 D/s relationship,” he replied.

“I don’t share,” she stated.

“I don’t want to share or be shared. I want one woman to serve, who will direct me, care for me, and accept that I am human and will make mistakes,” Angel stated.

“That goes both ways. Dommes can make mistakes,” she said.

“It takes a special Dom or Domme to admit that, Mistress Catriona.”

This was going very well, in fact far too well. There had to be a catch somewhere. He’d given her perfect answers to all the questions she’d asked, and his opinions seemed to be in perfect synch with hers. Could he be the forever one? she wondered.

“I have a collar here, a temporary one. Would you like to wear it?”

“I would be honoured to wear your collar, Mistress Catriona.”

“It will make things easier in the club. We can get a temporary membership for you, and meet here in the evenings. Do you want to ask anything?”

She was pleased to see him pause and think, then he said, “I would like to see you outside the club, Mistress Catriona. If we are going to have the 24/7 D/s relationship, it makes sense to explore it outside, too. We won’t be in the club all the time, and there may be things about me, when I’m not in the club, that you don’t like.”

How tactful he was. He hadn’t said there might be things about her
he
might not like. He was right, too. They had to know as much as possible about each other. She saw him look at the collar she had given him. A small smile made the corners of his mouth turn up as he saw the little cat etched on the disc. He seemed pleased with it, and, when he wore it, all in Prometheus in Chains would know he was
hers
!

“It’s Friday today. Why not come and spend the weekend with me? You can return home on Sunday evening, or bring your business suit, and go to work from my flat on Monday. Whichever you prefer, unless you have previous commitments?” she offered.

“I have only one thing I have to do this weekend, but maybe we can do it together? I have to go to the opening of an exhibition of pottery. A good friend is putting it on at her gallery. That’s on Saturday evening.”

There was a twinge of something.
Could it be jealousy?
she asked herself. He said
her
gallery, but this was stupid. He must have friends and had had a life before her, so it would be better to go and find out about it. She accepted gracefully. It was decided between them that, when the club closed, he would drive her to his flat. She would go in and wait until he packed. She liked that idea. She would be able to see what his flat was like. The decor, the tidiness or otherwise, what his tastes in books, music, and films were, all would help her to know him better.

Soon, but not soon enough for her, which was strange as usually she loved being in Prometheus in Chains, the familiar winding down chant of Alberto Turco was played, and they went to get their coats. He opened the door of the club, stood back to let her precede him, then he led her over to a large saloon car. Catriona knew little about cars, but she knew luxury when she saw it. The hand-stitched leather seats in dark blue and the clunk as the door closed told her this was top of the range. He made sure her seat belt was fastened, then he drove her to his flat.

She watched him, as he negotiated the early-morning traffic. He drove smoothly, in control, and within the speed limits
. A law-abiding man then? Will he be averse to taking risks? Or is he just careful in a car?
She would have to explore that. She was excited and energised, as she hadn’t been for a long time. There were things to explore, things to learn, and, of course, there was the loving to be anticipated, but not for long. She intended to have him inside her this weekend. If the state of his cock, when they were in the club, had been any indication, he’d be pleased to oblige her.

His flat was the top floor in a conversion of an old house, set in some grounds, on the edge of the city. He seemed to be wealthy, and she wondered what his job was. He helped her out of the car, and they walked up the two flights of stairs. The entrance hall to his flat was floored with parquet, polished to a deep, rich shine. There was just a telephone table and a plant in a pot on a tall, wooden holder. He sat her in the living room, with a glass of iced water while he packed. The sofa and chairs were Chesterfields in dark-green leather. The floor was parquet, with a couple of Persian rugs. She was more interested in the racks of CDs, DVDs, and the bookshelves, which covered one wall floor to ceiling. He was a cultured man, with eclectic tastes, to judge by the spines of the books. Most were hardback. She noticed a lot of her favourite authors. The classics were well represented. He had a leather-bound copy of the complete works of Jane Austen she’d seen once in a bookshop. It had been way too expensive for her modest means then, but she remembered its feel, and the smell of the leather. He had a few shelves of science fiction, too. She saw with delight that A. E. van Vogt was well represented, as well as Sir Arthur C. Clarke and Isaac Asimov. She picked up a copy of
The Pawns of Null-A
. She was astounded to see, on the inside cover, the small, crabbed signature of the author, and E. Mayne Hull, his wife. Reverently, she replaced it on the shelf.

Turning to the CDs, she noticed a large selection of heavy metal. The classics like Deep Purple, Black Sabbath, and Zeppelin as well as the more modern Nine Inch Nails and Skinny Puppy. They were not going to argue over music if that was what he liked, she thought.

Soon he had everything he needed, packed in a small bag. She got up, and he showed her to the door, but then went back for something he said he’d forgotten.

When they got to her flat, she showed him in and explained the layout. Not that there was much to it. She liked the flat, but it wasn’t somewhere she’d want to live forever. The small entrance hall led onto a medium-sized, square kitchen with sufficient room for a small breakfast table and chairs. It had dishwasher, washer, and fridge-freezer. The units were high-gloss, plain white for easy cleaning and the uncluttered look. They extended all the way to the ceiling. She loved nice glassware and tableware, and had several matching sets, displayed on the shelves of some of the wall cabinets that had glass doors. The work tops, of black polished marble, were beautiful, but lots of work to keep in tip-top shape. The tiles on the wall were light grey, and the flooring was medium-grey slate. There was only one wall with no units, and that was painted light olive green. The kitchen was a cool, restful space, and she loved to cook in it. Her one big indulgence had been a gas cooker, with double oven. She loved to cook with gas, and living in the city had its compensations, one of which was piped town gas.

She had a small dining room, which also held her computer, printer, and the like. She loved her iPad, but owned a powerful PC as well. The dining room was all black lacquer and Japanese cabinets. The walls were dark red up to the picture rails and cream above them.

The one bedroom she had was a square space, with a good-sized bathroom en suite. The bedroom was decorated in pale grey, with highlights of old rose in the curtains and bed linen. She had a surprise for him, too. The bed had concealed rings for tethering, and tonight she was going to use them for the first time. The furniture was of pale oak. She showed him a space in the wardrobe to hang his suit for work on Monday. She gave him a couple of drawers for the rest of his clothes. She did not know how much clothing he had brought, but it was not going to be needed. She indicated a large robe, still in its plastic wrap on the bed. She’d bought it for him. She didn’t want him to think he was one in a long line of men she had brought back here.

He was the first man she had allowed in her flat, for more than a quick visit. Usually, when she dated, the man would collect her, and maybe get a drink if she was not on time. That was a rare occurrence, as Catriona could not abide lateness. They would go to the club and play there. If she wanted privacy, there were the rooms at Prometheus in Chains. She’d never wanted more than that, and this was a first for her. She wondered about his feelings and if he wanted more.

There was a short pause as they both looked at one another. She was the Domme, so it was up to her to…Suddenly, she felt herself enfolded in strong arms and pressed to his body all along her length. She felt her nipples bead and her pussy leak moisture as he held her tight. She felt his heartbeat speed up, and the long, hard ridge of his erection pressed into her. He sighed and kissed her cheek, then suddenly it was all too much. She pulled back out of his arms, and began to strip off his clothes. He got the message, and stripped hers off, too. Buttons flew off. There was a rip of some garment or other, she couldn’t tell if it was his or hers. Then she was naked and so was he. The heat of him was incredible. He turned and threw off the bed covers, leaving only the sheet. He picked her up and deposited her gently on the bed. Then he stood back for a moment and looked at her.

“Mistress Catriona, you’re so beautiful. I could eat you.”

He lowered himself to the bed and proceeded to do just that. He started on her feet, kneading and caressing her toes and the arches. She giggled and squirmed as his touch tickled her. She watched him as he stored the information. He wasn’t going to be a doormat, she knew, and all he learned he would use. He bent to lick his way up one leg as far as her pussy, and she arched her back in an automatic reflex. He just smiled and did the same to the other leg.
He’s
going to pay for the teasing, she promised herself. He got on his hands and knees over her, and, framing her face with his hands, he kissed her. He licked and nibbled the corners of her mouth, and along her lips. His mouth was warm and featherlight to start with, but soon he became more forceful, as she opened her mouth and invited him in. His mouth crushed hers, and his hands tightened about her face. His tongue duelled with hers, stroking and tangling in an erotic dance. Then he sucked her tongue into his mouth and invited her to do the same to him. Nothing loth, she took over the kiss, and invaded his mouth with her tongue. She explored every inch of his mouth, and couldn’t get enough of his taste. She was brought back to earth with a bump, as one strong hand kneaded her breast gently, but with ever-increasing pressure as she moaned and arched her back, pushing her breast into his hand.

“More, harder!” she said.

He took her nipple in his fingers and tweaked, flicked, and pulled on it, until she was incoherent in her pleas. She wanted more. The bite of pain was exquisite, and she writhed under his knowing fingers. She could feel his eyes on her, and knew he was assessing and storing information. She’d no problem with that. If this was his idea of lovemaking, she was more than happy to go along with it, this time. Next time, it would be on her terms, and her turn to explore and assess. He turned his attentions to the other breast, and she moaned.

“My Angel, harder.”

He obliged, and then his hand sank lower, and he inserted one finger in the slick folds of her labia. She was so wet. He took his finger away. She protested.