Nothing Like The Sun: Six (F/m)                       Chapter Six: Catherine

   Monday Morning
        
    Catherine woke feeling tired and a little sad. The sun hadn't risen yet,
and in the dark, still gloom of the early morning the house felt even emptier
than usual.

   Knowing full well how early she had to be up for work, she'd sent michael
home the night before. It hadn't helped much; she kept going over the tapes
repeatedly, rewinding her favorite bits over and over.        

   She'd studied the way he reacted to her ravishing his ass; watched with
laborious breath as a slow, dewy look filled his eyes. Then she'd see herself
quickening her own pace, driving for her own orgasm and Catherine would turn
away angrily. She'd only ever brought a man to "orgasm" without his penis once
before, and she'd stumbled into it by accident. michael impressed her as being
sensitive enough for her to repeat the experience, and she was pissed that her
own greediness had ruined her first, best chance.         

   When next she looked at the clock, it was one in the morning and she only
had four hours left for sleep, maybe five if she rushed herself later.

   She'd thought -hoped, really - that her experiences with michael would
change the patterns of her dreaming, but the old dream returned.

   She knew she was dreaming as it happened. She knew it was The Dream; but She
couldn't escape the emotions it stirred up because she also knew all too well
that it was a memory, too.        

   She was in a bed, not Her bed, but a nearly perfect replica; in the house
she'd made her slaves rent when the stable too big and too unwieldy for her own
home. Melrose East, She had taken to calling it.

    kelli was at her feet, licking and sucking her toes; and Catherine was
trying to push back the overwhelming guilt she was feeling at just that moment
and say what needed to be said. All She could think of were clichés: no more
room at the inn, last hired - first fired.        
        
   It didn't help that She'd brought the girl in against her better judgment;
that she knew she was already spreading herself too thin. If it had been anyone
but Caresse who had asked, She would have said "no," but Caresse - Goddess
Caresse, formerly of Paris, France (though once when they were drunk, had
admitted she was born in Lyon and had only been to Paris "once or twice") - was
Catherine's best friend in the scene.        
        
   The more Catherine got to know kelli, the more uncomfortable she grew with
the whole situation. For one thing, Catherine could never really enjoy herself
with female submissives. She had two other women in Her stable, but they were
both quite strong willed and self assured. Laura the Amazon was a switch and
Gina, who Catherine had picked up club-hopping one night, was in it mainly for
the camp and drama. Catherine let the Cuban girl's irreverent attitude slide
because she was simply the hottest dance partner the mistress had ever known.

   kelli, on the other hand, was weak and full of self-loathing. She had a lot
of serious rape fantasies, and once told Catherine, proudly, about the time her
boyfriend hand made her bend down in the middle of the park and eat a pile of
dog shit in front of a dozen spectators. What made it worse was that the girl
couldn't understand the revulsion and pity she elicited from Catherine when she
told those kind of stories.

    Gina had told Catherine a little later on that kelli had confessed to her
that the boyfriend had actually tried to break up with her the night before,
and that kelli'd locked herself in the bathroom and threatened suicide until he
gave in. It was his idea that the girl go into "that S&M shit" and Catherine
guessed he had suggested it in large part to get away.        

   kelli was everything Catherine hated about subs and Dommes, and she wanted
her gone.

   She'd been bracing herself for kelli to throw a similar tantrum after
Catherine dismissed her, when the door to her room flew open violently and Gina
came running in, wild eyed and screaming. 

    A world away from that time and place, Catherine shook her head sadly and
crawled out of bed. 

   She padded into the bathroom on bare feet and stopped to look at herself in
the mirror. The ghost looked exhausted, but happy.        
 
   Her eyes were sunken and looked bruised. She'd catch shit for that at work. 
      
  
   Not that She usually minded the ragging, She even encouraged it most times.
She was completely open about her lifestyle at the office and it delighted her
that her male coworkers were either so stupid or so ignorant that they believed
she was joking. It was amazing to her that these men could swallow the letters
printed in Penthouse as fact, yet laugh off her detailed descriptions of
real-life encounters.        

  She relieved herself; the act of defecation reminding her of the way
michael's tongue had felt inside her. She'd been surprised overall how
professional a job he'd done with the whole massage. Most subs tried to make it
an erotic act: planting little kisses, groping her breasts. And while michael
had poked her once or twice through the panties, she'd dealt with enough subs
"accidentally" rubbing their cocks against her to know that in michael's case
it had been genuine clumsiness.         

   She finished her business, flushed, brushed her teeth, gargled mouthwash,
spat and smiled to the disheveled haridelle in the mirror. Just another
glamorous day in the life of a Domme.        
 
   michael had no idea how close to her heart he'd hit with his analogy about
dogs. In Catherine's estimation, all men were dogs; only some were more German
Shepherd and others more Irish Setter.  michael was definitely more Working
Group than Toy, but then again, she grinned, slipping into the shower, they
were all toys to Her.         
 
   She felt better after her shower, she always did. She wrapped one towel
around her body, a second around her hair, and went back into the bedroom.
Bast, the cat, had jumped up on the bed and was licking herself. She'd already
made a good sized stain on Catherine's satin bedcover.        
  
   "Damn it, Bas, get off!"        

   The cat continued to lap at itself, oblivious. Catherine undid the towel
across her torso and teased it into a rat's tail. She snapped it, with
precision accuracy, directly above the indolent creature. Bast stopped, glared
at her, and hissed.        
  
   "I SAID GET OFF!" She barked. The cat began licking itself again.        

   Catherine sighed. "Bitch," she muttered.        

   She went over to her vanity. She loved cats, but at least men were
trainable.        

   By the time she was done drying her hair, the first rays of the sun were
peeking through her blinds. She went to the dresser and picked up the pair of
cotton underwear that had been neatly folded on top. They were michael's, and
they were probably the cleanest pair of men's underwear she had ever seen. If
it weren't for the faded tags, she'd have sworn they were new. Given the
disorderly condition of his apartment, she hadn't expected it of him.        
        
  Unfortunately for michael, the pair of panties she'd swapped them for hadn't
been nearly so clean. That reminded her, and she hastily pulled on the jockeys,
tying a knot in the side so they'd stay up, and hurried