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

“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!

  Chapter Four

  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 Zeppeli
n 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.

  Chapter Five

  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.