Cyril had stayed on his knees at the Bridget's motion.  Again, the feeling of disbelief that he was in this moment flooded his system as he felt her brush past him to pursue his wife.  That fact alone was enough to pitch this whole experience into some surrealistic experience to rival Lewis Carrol's stories.  However, the fact that he didn't wake up meant this was all too real and happening.<br/><br/>His wife and his Mistress were talking to each other, face to face, while he knelt at the doorway that he had crossed many times before.<br/><br/>He could hear the two of them conversing.  It was easy enough to hear their words, yes.  Marrisa's words caused a slightly uncomfortable feeling to pass through him.  He thought back on the conversations she was speaking of.  And while he had answered her questions, he supposed that he hadn't really, truly, given her the full story.  He had always been unwilling to look too closely at this...affectation for submissiveness.  Especially when it concerned his wife.<br/><br/>He did regret a few of his words though.  Things that might have been...less than truthful.  Words spoken in the rush to keep her with him, to salvage their marriage.  To keep the oh so important image intact.<br/><br/>He made his living projecting that stable and collected image.  Losing Marissa would have been a troubling and painful aspect to move past.  It would have an impact far beyond their marriage.  Here though...here he was just a man on his knees.<br/><br/>He shifted slightly to let his groin adjust to a more comfortable position.  However, he stayed on his knees.  And waited.