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

“Mother, this is Catriona Guthrie. Catriona, this is my mother.” She was cold and polite but distant.

“Miss Guthrie,” his mother said, inclining her head slightly.

“I’m very pleased to meet you. Please call me Catriona, Mrs Webster.”

“This is my father.”

Mr Webster shook hands with her. “Pleased to meet you, Catriona, my dear. That’s a lovely name, Scottish I assume?”

“Yes, Mr Webster, I was born in Glasgow.” Catriona felt the cold gaze of Angel’s mother’s eyes. Catriona put up her chin, she wasn’t going to be intimidated. Catriona felt she was being weighed in the balance and found wanting. Her clothes were too ordinary, her hair too bright, and her Glasgow accent too pronounced. She’d lost the broad Glasgow accent, but had enough left to betray her origins.

“Please call me Richard. I was in Glasgow, just last week. It’s a very lively city.”

Catriona was grateful he at least was trying to put her at her ease. It was fortunate he’d not asked which part of Glasgow she was from, and wondered if they already knew.

“Indeed it is. Do you go there often, Richard?”

“No, just the occasional business trip. Have you lived in Sheffield long?”

“About seven years.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I trained as an accountant.” Richard Webster was tall, graying and distinguished. His manners were impeccable, and every bit as polished as his son’s. He tried to counteract the icy waves of disapproval they all could feel flowing from his wife, but even his practised urbanity was not up to that task.

She noticed the smile of derision on Mrs Webster’s face.

“And do you still work as an accountant, Miss Guthrie?” she asked.

“Yes and no, I am employed to look after the accounts for the club I work in.”

“Shall we order now?” Catriona was grateful Richard had interrupted as she feared she wouldn’t be able to keep her temper if Angel’s mother criticised her choice of profession. They consulted the menus and chose their meal. She realised that his mother was watching her to see if she knew which knife and fork to use. She smiled to herself. Her teacher, Miss Jepherson, had seen to all that. Catriona had been a gauche little girl, but Miss Jepherson had seen her potential and done all she could to give her poise and polish. Mrs Webster was not going to be able to fault her table manners.

However, by the end of the meal, Catriona was feeling awkward, and a little gauche. She was glad when Angel stood.

“I’m sorry but we have to go now. We’re going to Jinny’s pottery exhibition.”

“How is dear Jinny? Do give her my love, such a delightful girl and so talented. She comes from
such
a decent family, too,” Mrs Webster positively gushed.

“Oh, I haven’t seen much of her lately,” Angel replied.

“That’s such a shame. I had high hopes for the two of you.”

“Good-bye, Catriona. I hope to see you again soon.” Mr Webster took her hand, pressing it warmly.

“Good-bye, Richard, Mrs Webster. It’s been a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for a delightful meal.”

“Miss Guthrie.” Neither woman wished to meet the other ever again. Mr Webster pressed her hand once more and smiled encouragingly.

They visited the gallery, and Catriona loved the pottery. Angel’s friend, Jinny, was a small, dark woman with her female partner in tow. They were obviously in love, and Catriona laughed at herself for the twinge of jealousy she had felt. Mrs Webster obviously didn’t know Jinny was gay. Catriona smiled as she thought of what Angel’s mother would make of that, good family or not. Angel behaved toward them both with his usual impeccable manners, but she noticed his eyes only lit up in that special way when he turned to look at her. The women were both delighted to meet Catriona, and she enjoyed looking at the exhibits. Some were in bright, jewel colours. Others had interesting, and very tactile, glazes. Angel bought her a vase she had liked, with a gold-and-green-flecked glaze. They declined a drink, and took a taxi home. In the taxi there was a silence, then both spoke at once.

“I’m
so
sorry, Mistress.”

“I’m sorry she does not like me.”

They smiled, and he took her hand and raised it to her lips.

“You were magnificent. Many women would have walked out or tried to put her in her place. She’s getting older and faded. Fading beauties don’t react well to youth, vigour, and such beauty as yours.”

She was moved by his assessment with which she secretly agreed. In any other circumstances her normal, “Fuck her!”
would have covered it. Catriona would have moved on, and never thought of Mrs Webster again. But the woman was Angel’s mother and, as such, she had to be dealt with. She had to be treated with kid gloves, and they would have to meet again. Maybe it would be fine next time, but she doubted it.

Later they watched TV together. Catriona had Ravel’s Bolero as danced by the Corps de Ballet de l’Opéra National de Paris, with Nicolas le Riche as principal dancer. It was only fifteen minutes long, but it was a mesmerising performance. There were only male dancers, all bare chested. On a red platform, Nicolas danced barefoot. The rest danced on the floor in shoes. They were all superb specimens of manhood. Every muscle and bone on their upper bodies was well defined and controlled. Nicolas’s feet were beautiful, long, slender, supple, and strong. Both of them found the movements of the dance, in time to the insistent, staccato drumbeats of the Bolero arousing. They watched in complete silence, holding hands and never taking their eyes from the screen. They enjoyed it so much they had to watch it again. Then they made love on the floor in front of the television. They couldn’t wait to go into the bedroom.

The weekend was a great success, but it was over all too soon. Catriona had no need to get up early on the Monday, so Angel told her he’d get his own breakfast and leave for work from her flat. She had every intention of getting up early to have breakfast with him, but he had worn her out with his lovemaking, and she slept through until ten. When she awoke, there was a small, neatly wrapped parcel on her pillow. She opened it and found the signed copy of
The Pawns of Null-A
with a short note.

Thank you for a wonderful weekend, Mistress. Fondly, your Angel.

She was surprised that tears misted her eyes as she stroked her book and lay back on the pillows to think about
her
Angel.

Angel was sitting, chatting with the other subs, or rather listening to their gossip and chatter. Catriona was doing a scene. He knew that, being a pro Domme, she had to do scenes to earn her living. She’d asked if he wanted to watch and left it up to him.

I don’t, do I?
he asked himself. He trusted her implicitly, but he couldn’t bear to think of someone else touching her.

Should I go and watch? Would it be worse than sitting here wondering? he thought. In the end he went. He couldn’t stay away.

The sub was bound and gagged. Catriona was using the singletail on him. The only sounds he made, when the lash connected with his twitching body, were muted, because of the gag. He could see the twine around the man’s genitals. He was a portly, hairy man, nothing much to look at. Catriona had many such regular clients. Angel winced in sympathy at the twine, but the client must have requested cock-and-ball torture or Catriona wouldn’t have done it. He didn’t like the idea of her binding some client’s cock and balls, but he knew there was no sexual element, as far as she was concerned. She’d told him she did not like CBT, or golden showers, or some of the other, grosser things clients asked for, but she did them. She had to earn her living, and, what her clients wanted, she did. She’d told him that Arden Leigh, the rope Top she’d met in the USA, had been accused of being in it “just for the money,” and Arden had warned Catriona the comment would be levelled at her, too. It was a stupid comment to make as they were all making a living out of it. Those who did the accusing, too.

He watched Catriona as she worked. She was the consummate professional. She was nothing like the ball of hot desire he’d held in his arms last night and subdued with his forceful caresses. He watched the scene as it unfolded. She brought it to an end, when she judged the client had had enough. She released him and gave him her usual aftercare. He kissed her hand, and thanked her profusely. Catriona looked up and saw Angel then. She strode over, took him by the back of the neck, and kissed him on the lips hard. He could smell her arousal, as she ground her hips against his throbbing cock.

“I want you now! But I have two more scenes to do. Are you going to watch?”

He had to think about that. “Do you want me to, Mistress?” 

“Yes, Angel. It makes me hotter than hell to know you’re watching.” 

“Very well. It shall be as my Mistress pleases,” he replied.

He watched the next two scenes. He watched her skill as a rigger as she tied, tested the ropes, and saw the client was safe and comfortable. She concentrated on doing the best job of which she was capable. She never once looked at him, but he knew she sensed his presence. He wondered why it was important to her to have him there watching. He knew that getting aroused was only part of it. Maybe he could tease it out of her later. If not, well he was a patient man. He knew what he wanted and, in the end, he had always got it!

He wanted her, not for one night, not for one month, but as a permanent part of his life. He wondered how she felt about it, how they would work out their future. They had already discussed the 24/7 D/s relationship. No one in his family knew of his kink. At least he hoped they didn’t, as his very vanilla parents wouldn’t approve. In his position, as head of human resources in the family firm, he couldn’t afford to have it made public either. Would it have made a difference if he’d been a Dom? He suspected it would. People’s perceptions of him might have differed. Most wouldn’t be able to reconcile his submissive nature with his high-powered job. Most wouldn’t understand his need for release.

* * * *

“As I understand it, Mrs Webster, you want me to follow two people, your son and this Catriona Guthrie. You want photographs of them together and in this BDSM club called Prometheus in Chains.”

Don Reetie was a nondescript man, average height, average build, glasses, and sandy hair. Mrs Webster looked at him with distaste. She supposed that, in his profession, it was an asset to look so ordinary. She didn’t like the man. That didn’t matter so long as he did the job.

“That’s exactly what I want. I also want to see my son’s latest medical report. He’s had a recent checkup at his doctor’s and I want a copy of it. Can you get it?”

“Certainly I can. Is there any time constraint?”

“Just do it as soon as you can. Ring me when you’re ready to report. Speak only to me and tell no one else you are a private investigator, when you call this house. Don’t come to the house for any reason, unless I arrange it with you. No one else must know about the investigation.”

One week later he called her and told her he had what she needed. She arranged for him to call when her husband was out. He handed over the folder. She looked at it quickly then gave him the cheque and he left. When he’d gone she opened the folder and looked at the pictures. She was shocked. Her beautiful son was dressed only in a thong, he had a collar like a dog around his neck. She was dressed in some weird corset and a leather skirt and boots. She held a lead which was attached to the collar around Adrian’s neck.

Oh no! This couldn’t be happening. What had that dreadful woman got him into? He’d be ruined if it got out. He’d be a laughingstock. She herself would never hold up her head again. Her friends would be appalled. She had to think. It had to stop, but how?

Angel wanted her to move in with him. Her flat was small and nothing special.

She’d said she intended to move someday, so why not now?
he thought
.
His flat was large enough for them both, and certainly, she liked it.

Was she ready for such a move?
he wondered. Well, he would never know if he didn’t ask. He decided to arrange a special meal and put the question to her.

He ordered fresh flowers. He chose the carnations and chrysanthemums in autumn colours that she’d liked, when he sent her the first flowers. He decided to cook for her himself. As a starter he would serve tiger king prawns, to be arranged neatly in a wheel shape, and served with aioli. The main course would be Suffolk pork chops, with caramelised apple wedges. He’d cook asparagus and broccoli as accompaniments, and maybe duchesse potatoes. As a dessert they would have an ice-cream sundae. He had a good Rioja he’d been saving for a special occasion. They didn’t get more special than this.

Even though he would see her in the club that night, he rang Mistress and asked her to a special dinner in two days’ time. That would give him time to shop. She said she’d be delighted, so he began to plan. There was another surprise he had to prepare. He picked up the phone and made the call.

Two evenings later Catriona rang the doorbell. Angel answered in black, tight-fitting slacks and a deep blue silk shirt, with the long sleeves neatly rolled up to reveal his strong, muscular arms, lightly dusted with fine blond hairs. The shirt neck was open, and the column of his throat revealed that he wore her collar with the little cat on the disc. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed each finger, all the while gazing into her eyes.

“Welcome, Mistress,” he said.

He took her deep topaz velvet evening coat and hung it up. Underneath, she wore a formfitting dress of the same velvet. It was long, reaching to her ankles, but it had a slit up the side that reached midthigh, and showed an expanse of slim leg when she walked. Her shoes had four-inch heels and were of deep amber leather. Her beautiful hair was coiled at her nape, and confined in a sort of filigree net. Her necklace was of silver and amber and the long drop earrings matched. Her perfume was the usual, Issey Miyake.
He preferred Dune, and he would buy her a bottle to try. He was convinced it would smell really delicious on her. He liked Issey Miyake, but he wanted her to have a choice. He turned from hanging the coat, took her in his arms, and just held her close, breathing in her unique scent, and revelling in the clean, fresh smell of her hair. All this was his, he thought.