tagNovels and NovellasFor the Love of Licia Pt. 02

For the Love of Licia Pt. 02

byangiquesophie©

Chapter Five: Strange feelings.

Maybe it was because of how she grew up. Or maybe Alicia just had the talent all along -- the talent to live her life on two levels. One she considered the upper level, and one she called lower.

On the upper level she was a pretty woman in her thirties. She considered herself a respected businesswoman and up until her divorce a loyal wife. After she'd sworn off all men, she became a devoted soul mate to her girlfriend Rita. She also was a great cook, specializing in the Lebanese cuisine, proudly making the best humus ever. She loved to cook, she loved to love and she loved to work.

The problem was, however, that for her this was only half a life. Many people would be happy with such a half-life, but Alicia wasn't one of them. She was way too passionate to be satisfied with half a life. Her body needed more, much more -- and so did her spirit. That is why she always found herself sooner or later (often sooner) in her virtual cellar to open the hatch to a place she called her lower level. And when she did, her fingers trembled, her heart raced and her pussy tingled.

Below the hatch was paradise. First it was called Bianca's, now it was the Club -- wild, anonymous places where she could be anybody but the sweet and well-adapted woman she was supposed to be. She could dream and fantasize. She could feel the surge of horny need hit her again and again and be assured of instant satisfaction. She could fuck whoever she liked, anyone who wanted her. There was no awkwardness, no inhibition. There was just the exhilarating certainty that they would want her, anytime she lifted the hatch.

She learned new, unspeakable things and knew that no one would tell on her -- as no one even knew who she was. She could come and go and cheat and lie -- and no one would mind as they all did it, didn't they? There was no guilt, no shame, for Alicia had told herself that she was an entirely different woman down there -- a wild, wild woman playing a game. It was all a game. It was all just one gorgeous, heart stopping party and she loved it.

At first it had taken her a while to understand what kind of place Bianca's was. She had stumbled upon it and watched from a distance. She had heard stories, wild stories. And then she had taken off her clothes and walked in. She had dived in naked and never left the warm, bubbling, gushing Jacuzzi again.

Today she sipped her soda, sitting in one of the bay windows of the pink Salon. She was dressed in a thin, flowery wraparound top and a simple skirt. Her gaze travelled lazily around the room. Things were slow this afternoon, not many girls around, none of her friends. She saw some new faces, as always wondering how they might be -- how they'd feel and taste.

She touched her lips with the pink tip of her tongue. By now she'd lost count of how many times she had let herself be taken upstairs, where the private rooms were. More often than not they'd been hasty fucks, steamy affairs that involved fingers and tongues. Sometimes there would be a third or even fourth partner. There would be vibes added, or a dildo to faster reach climax and lose no time to find the next lover.

She slowly sipped her coke, watching two skimpily dressed girls sitting on a pink sofa, kissing. She vaguely knew the blonde. The girl peeked over the brunette's shoulder, staring straight at her, winking while slowly running her tongue into her lover's ear. My God, were they all sluts, greedily looking for the next fuck while still seducing the first? And if they were, was she any different?

The girls suddenly jumped up and ran giggling out of the Salon, hand in hand to find the stairs and a free room. The blonde blew Alicia a kiss in passing. She remembered now who she was.

Seeing the girl's face and thinking how this Club reminded her of a warm, wonderful Jacuzzi, her memory took her back to another afternoon -- and a huge bubble bath filled with foam and horny girls. It had been three days ago and among the girls were Amber and the blonde she just saw (what was her name again?) -- and Kimmie.

The room had been steamed up. She remembered wet, slippery bodies chasing each other like pink phantoms in the mist. There was a storm of giggles and clouds of foam flying around like angel wings. Panting and gasping they at last fell down in a heap, wet hands groping, mouths kissing.

She remembered how Amber, another Bianca's girl, strong and tall, had taken her in her arms and kissed her, calling her silly names. Then they both took hands full of bubbles and plastered them to their head and faces, crying out that they were bubble monsters, chasing the others.

Kimmie had suddenly turned angry. She'd pushed them away as they wanted to adorn her with foam too and yelled at them to stop when they tried to involve her in the game. Then Amber topped Alicia's head with a sparkling mountain of foam and knelt before her, mockingly crowning her as the Empress Licia, queen of all Rome. They giggled at the silliness of it and dug up crazy plays on words. As part of the game they threw Christian slave girls to the lions and the Empress regally but cruelly turned her thumb down on them. The little blonde and Kimmie were supposed to be the slave girls, while Amber would be the lion.

Protesting loudly, Kimmie climbed out of the tub, wrapping a big towel around her slight, shivering body.

"You are stupid! Both of you!" she cried out, almost weeping. "I don't want this, you know? You make fun of me and you are both stupid!" And she ran away, her bare feet splattering in the spilled puddles of water on the floor.

"Stooooopid!!" Amber echoed with a deep monster voice. She made horns of her fingers and charged into Alicia, who fell back into the water, screaming with laughter. Amber picked her up and whispered:

"May your unworthy but very hungry little slave-lion eat from the sweet fountain of your abundance, oh Empress?" And she dove between Alicia's thighs to suck on her slippery pussy.

Back at the salon Alicia shifted in her seat. The images ignited feelings that made her tremble. She sure hoped her skirt wouldn't stain from her weeping pussy. She should have worn panties, shit, even a pad. She was always so damn wet in here. Just walking in, no, just anticipating going to the Club was enough to get her gushing. Yesterday night she made sweet love to Rita, tender, endless love. But, in order to come, she'd had to imagine the two of them being at the Club, watched by Gina, Tyana, Amber... She smiled ruefully. Bringing Rita here would be unthinkable. She'd have a heart attack.

Alicia stealthily picked a paper napkin from the table. She stuffed it in her pussy and let her fingers linger -- dreaming back. The first weeks at this new Club had been crazy. She met many new faces, found many new possibilities. As she looked back her memories were wrapped in one big pink cloud of excitement. She'd spent almost every night in here. The girls were scandalously open, some walking around naked, others coming on so strong they made her gasp and retire into the save embrace of her old friends and lovers.

Then there had been the woman in black leather with the slave girl on a leash, a week ago. My God, had the two of them been kinky -- they were wrong of course, totally immoral -- but so very sexy. She remembered how she'd longed to be that leashed and dominated girl, her face forced into her Mistress's crotch and everybody looking -- everybody.

Back home she had downloaded videos and pictures on her computer, watching naked girls being bound, whipped and abused. Some of them were lead around on a chain at a party, with all the other guests fully clothed -- forced to suck cocks and eat pussies. She had felt the humiliation as if she herself had been the girl, and it made her come hard in the safety of her room, while Rita was away. It had fueled her fantasies, both at the Club and in bed with her lover.

Later on, in the darkness of a sleepless night it had made her wonder about herself

She sighed, removing her fingers from under her skirt. She tried to inconspicuously smell their tips, wondering where to go with her horniness. As if on cue the woman of the leashed girl entered the Salon. She was alone this time, and not wearing a corset. In fact, she only wore a thin black lace top that had slipped off her left breast, plainly showing a dark nipple against the pale flesh. Below it was a tight, knee length pencil skirt. She obviously did not need a corset to have a perfect figure. Black classic nylons hugged her calves, ending in leather ankle boots. They were laced up through old-fashioned hooks and eyelets and had square, very high heels. Her face and exposed breast were a ghostly white; her hair was as black and her mouth as purple as they had been last week.

Alicia's eyes followed the woman walking gracefully past and around chairs, sofas and pillows, moving like a catwalk model -- walking like a cat indeed. As she reached a corner, she sat down in the half shadows cast by an overhead balcony. There was a single candle on her table -- its yellow flame dancing before her. It looked like a will-o'-the-whisp, Alicia mused, a little luring spirit. She wondered why she'd think that.

She also noticed she hadn't breathed for a while and let the air out of her lungs. Looking up she froze -- the woman's eyes caught hers. They were dark and steady, arresting her thoughts. Knowing that her spying had been discovered, Alicia felt the heat of a blush rise up her throat. A sly smile lifted the corners of the woman's lips. Then a waitress eclipsed her, putting a large pot of tea and two china cups on the table. The woman whispered something to her. The waitress smiled, nodded and walked over to Alicia.

"The lady at the table below the balcony wonders if you'd like to have a cup of afternoon tea with her?"

She saw the woman at the table mouth the word "please". Very conscious of herself, Alicia rose from her chair, adjusting her creased skirt, checking it for dampness. Then she walked the few steps over, careful not to lose the napkin stuffed inside her. When she arrived, she noticed that the woman hadn't bothered to cover her breast. Alicia tried to keep her eyes away from it as she extended her hand.

"I am Alicia, pleased to meet you." The woman's hand was cool and there was strength below the soft skin -- quite a bit of it too.

"Lovely name, Alicia. My name is Angique, so we share an A." She chuckled and lifted the teapot. "We might share some tea as well. Shall I pour you a cup, honey?"

Alicia nodded and watched the long fingered hands handle the pot with elegance. She noted that all the rings had vanished but for one that held a big emerald. Looking up she saw how its color matched the woman's eyes.

After pouring two cups Angique pointed out a chair.

"Please, sit down, honey. I bet you are not the cake or muffin type, are you? Should I ask for any?"

The repeated "honey" disturbed Alicia with its casual intimacy, while at the same time spreading a delicious warmth throughout her body. Every time they met, this woman seemed to stir conflicting emotions. Then, as if to confirm that thought, Angique surprised her with a loud, throaty laugh.

"Damn, girl! It's only me," she said. "Sit down and tell me how you are doing, for God's sake. I have seen you in here flitting around like a butterfly and having fun for three. Now don't you go and get shy on me!"

Alicia sat down, smiling. She felt the tea's heat inside the little nest of her hands.

"Sorry," she said. "But you were rather intimidating, last week. I'd think you would still be pretty mad at us." Angique looked up. The candlelight's reflection danced in her eyes.

"Us?" she asked. "You are part of something? How cute, let me guess. You belong to this group of pious feminists that read me the riot act last week? What was her name? The Philippine woman?"

"Gina," Alicia said, a little bit peeved by the word "cute". "I was there, yes."

"And you agreed." It wasn't a question and Alicia didn't answer it. Had she agreed? Yes, she guessed she had. But hadn't she also...? Ah damn, silly girl, weak little turncoat. You admired the woman, but you went crawling back to Gina as soon as she cracked her righteous whip. You were scared to lose your friends. And now here you are with her again, staring like a chicken at a thunderstorm -- and your treacherous pussy is squeezing the balled-up napkin as if it has a pulse of its own. You're a cheat, Alicia, an opportunistic slut!

Angique laughed again.

"I guess you didn't want to let down your friends. I understand. It must be ever so nice to belong to a group like that -- safe too. I hear the lot of you have come over from this other place, what's it called?"

"Bianca's," Alicia answered, again a bit irritated by the addition of "safe too" They weren't looking for "safe" in here, okay? They were wild and free women, okay? But she bit her lip and went on.

"Bianca's was closing down because of vandalism. Sarah Lust tipped us about this place, so we moved. You met Sarah."

"Yes, I did," Angique said, smiling. "I am impressed by her. She seems a wonderful person. Wise too -- you'd better all listen to her."

Alicia wondered why she said those last words. Would Angique know about the constant bickering between Gina and Sarah? Would she even care about that if she knew?

They sipped in silence for a bit.

"Russian Earl Grey," Angique said, putting down her cup. "You like? I mean the tea, not the earl." She giggled at her own silly little joke. Alicia nodded, not admitting that she'd love a lump of sugar and a dash of milk in it. Somehow she thought asking for it would not agree with her hostess's sense of civilization.

"Or would you prefer some sugar and milk, honey?" Startled by the coincidence she didn't know what to say. Angique laughed her rich, creamy laugh again and ordered a sachet of sugar and a little can of steamed-up milk.

"I must be an open book," Alicia muttered, clouding her tea with the milk. Angique grinned.

"So now you must think I find you a little barbarian, Alicia? Ruining a perfectly good cup of tea?" The chuckling took away the sting.

"Ah, you know how we are, we primitive Americans!" Alicia tried to match the light tone, while covering up her surprise. Could this woman read minds?

"Oh," Angique hastened. "But you are not! Not primitive, I mean. Don't tell anyone, but us perfidious Europeans have our weaknesses too. And I am sure you are a very special American to boot. Where you live, so many beautiful girls emigrated from all the corners of the world. Are you from Italian stock? Spanish, maybe? Or no, Jewish?"

"My parents came from Lebanon," Alicia said. "I am an Arab girl, but not Muslim! We are Christians."

"The land of the giant cedars, lovely," Angique commented. "Beirut, wasn't that le Paris de l'Orient, so sadly ruined now?" Her hand touched Alicia's arm, sending a sudden shiver up the girl's spine.

"It explains your exotic beauty, honey," Angique went on. "Your chocolate eyes, the sweet olive skin and the hair, oh my, your hair. I love it." The hand had traveled up and was now caressing her hair, weighing its curls. "I am from Belgium, you know. Very, very petite country and nevertheless tri-lingual, would you believe it? Je suis Flamande, pas Walonne. They tried to make a good Catholic girl out of me, but they failed miserably."

She laughed. It made her bare nipple jump, drawing Alicia's attention to it -- again. Angique chuckled. "I am a pagan, darling -- a degenerate heathen. I enslave good Christian girls. Boo! Beware!"

Alicia couldn't suppress a giggle. The face the woman pulled was in wild contrast with her sophisticated elegance. She let herself go like a child -- totally into the moment. An irresistible glee bubbled up in Alicia as well and they both laughed out loud, making the people in the salon turn their heads.

Angique's hand was on hers.

"Now tell me, honey. What did they try to turn you into?" Alicia's giggling stopped. Damn, why these digs all the time? Wasn't this place meant for just a quick fuck? What did she want anyway?

"Oh well!" she exclaimed, deciding to cover her unease with bravado. "I guess I was meant to be a good lil housewife. A sweet cook of Lebanese cuisine annex cocksuckèr extraordinaire!" She exaggerated the Francophile endings of the words. Angique chuckled with her. The edge of her purple nails softly scratched Alicia's bare upper arm, almost as an afterthought.

"And did they succeed, honey?" Angique's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Her eyes bored into Alicia's, who tore her gaze away and sent it wandering through the salon.

"I guess that was too personal," Angique said with a smile. "One tends to think every question is allowed in this ambiance of free fucking." She grinned. "But I guess the real taboos are firmly in place. Pardonne-moi, je suis désolée." Alicia whispered a sorry.

"I...just... ," she stuttered. "I guess I am just not used to being this frank about things like that. You know, hon...oh, sorry, may I say hon? I never had a conversation like this in here." Angique smiled again and took up her cup, sipping her tea.

"No," she then said. "You may not call me hon, I hate hon. I also hate being called sweetie. I am not sweet at all." For just a second the emerald eyes darkened. Then another bright smile defused what she'd said. "And as for our too intimate conversation, well, why just be naked on the outside? Aren't we supposed to be totally free in here? Why leave the deeper thrills unused?"

Alicia saw that the two girls had returned from their fling in one of the rooms upstairs. The blonde giggled and waved.

"You know her?" Angique asked.

"I guess so. Forgot her name," Alicia answered.

"Ah, yes," Angique nodded. "So many names, so many faces. You are quite popular, aren't you?" Feeling the eyes on her, Alicia blushed.

"Guess so," she muttered. Angique laughed.

"Now you remind me of lil Kimmie. Know her? Of course you know her. One of your Christian slave girls."

Alicia looked up with a start and straight into the smiling green eyes.

"I was there, darling, resting after a nice massage," Angique said. " Quite misty in there. You played a lovely game in the tub, being crowned Empress no less, condemning poor slave girls. Who was the tall girl? She is funny. Witty too. And blessed with a talented tongue, considering your enthusiastic responses."

Angique's grinning only increased the heat of Alicia's fierce blushing. The woman laid her cool hand on her arm.

"It's all right, honey," she said. "Isn't that what we are in here for, all of us?" Alicia hid her eyes as she tipped her teacup.

"You were a graceful Empress, honey," Angique went on. "But I can't quite see it as a natural role for you. Is it?"

"Well..." Alicia said, not knowing quite what she meant.

"If you ask me, darling," Angique said, "I'd say you are a most gorgeous lil slave girl, Christian or not."

Alicia looked up, wanting to protest. She ran straight into two wide emerald headlights, alarming her as profoundly as true headlights would startle a doe on the highway.

"I... but..." she stammered.

"Never mind, honey." The voice seemed to reach her through a mist. "It was just a thought. You certainly should know better than I do. But I know you were here when I let lil Bobbi entertain me. You remember? The girl on the leash? Of course you remember. I saw you look, Alicia. And I don't think you agreed with your enlightened leader Gina. Not until she and her vanilla friends forced you to see it their way." Alicia protested, but she already knew she was unable to cover up her true thoughts with this woman -- just as unable as tearing her eyes away from her gaze.

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