For the Love of Licia Pt. 06byangiquesophie©
Chapter Twenty-one: Four kinds of suffering.
The girl looked almost boyish with her slight frame and short, flaxen hair. Her tits were hardly more than puffy nipples. Her tanned and graceful body was lean, but toned -- well-trained muscles moved against the smoothness of her skin.
Her pale blue eyes were usually fixed on the floor, but they grew big and amazingly steady whenever she looked up. She had a way of entering Villa like a whisper, naked and oiled, crawling catlike until she knelt and sat on her heels, eyes down, hands resting on her slightly spread thighs, palms up.
Bobbi'd been in love with Angique ever since they first met. Angique's response, on the other hand, was casual. She truly cared for the impish creature, but never felt she should commit to her in any way. She baptized her Bobbi and occasionally feasted on the little servant's generous sweetness.
The girl was grateful for every spare second she got. She also seemed oblivious to the irritations, which her eagerness instilled in her dreamt-to-be Mistress. She was like a soft pillow, yielding to a punch but always bouncing back. Neglect only seemed to feed her love and adoration.
At times Angique casually hurt Bobbi's feelings. She shoved her to the back-burner whenever there were other, spicier girls to keep around -- like Ishtar and Valerie and of course Alicia. She only allowed Bobbi back into her favor whenever a girl ran off or was dumped, and there was no one else to bear the brunt of Angique's frustrations. Bobbi never complained. She was always there to comfort her "Miss" -- not even being allowed to call her Mistress. She gladly offered her tiny body to be abused and her big, loyal heart to be broken.
At times Angique felt guilty, uttering half-hearted excuses, but Bobbi always stopped her with sweet long kisses and meticulous massages from her strong, skilled hands. Bobbi was a professional masseuse and a very good one -- her fingers rubbed the stress and frustration out of Angique's body, even when the girl knew she was just preparing her for other prey.
This morning Angique arrived at Villa finding Bobbi on her knees, naked, oiled and freshly shaven. She might have arrived minutes ago or hours ago -- no way to know with the little, patient creature. She smiled up at Angique and offered ways to pleasure her. Angique didn't look. She just threw her leather coat in a corner and sagged into an overstuffed club chair, stretching her long, booted legs -- groaning.
"Did you have to be here, slut?" she asked with a sigh. "Have you come to feed on my misery?"
"Sorry, Miss," Bobbi answered. "Of course I would never do that, but if my presence displeases you, I'll go." Her eyes were down, but she never moved.
Angique let out a frustrated scream. She rose from her chair, rushing over to the kneeling girl. She kicked her in the side, making her roll over and slide on the marble floor, propelled by the slickness of her skin. Bobbi just lay there, never uttering a sound, and never trying to protect her exposed body.
"Goddammit, girl!" Angique cried out, kicking her again. "Do you always have to be so fucking perfect? Are you mocking me?"
She stood panting over the crushed girl, hands on her hips. Her mouth worked and then she spit a glob of gathered saliva straight into Bobbi's face.
"Get off your high horse, you spineless slut!" she went on, lifting her boot and grinding its heel into the girl's soft belly. "Don't you dare hope that I'll feel sorry for you!"
Bobbi's hands grabbed the boot and, bringing her head up to the black leather, she started licking its shaft. Her eyes locked with Angique's -- there was no fear in them. The woman tore her foot free from the girl's grasp and reached down to grab her by the short hair, dragging her over to the side of the hearth.
"Stand, you damned fool," she said. "Stand up and offer me your wrists."
Bobbi did just as she was told, standing naked under the hooked chain that dangled from the ceiling. The click of the closing cuffs sent a shiver through her body. Without being asked, she raised her bound hands over her head. Her eyes were closed now, but her nostrils opened wide when she caught the scent of her tormentor. Their bodies almost touched as Angique reached up to slip the hook through the metal eyes of the cuffs.
The chain creaked as it tightened, pulling the girl up until she stood stretched to the maximum, only her toes touching the floor. Her muscles were like ropes under her skin. Her ribs showed and she shivered, making the red glow of the hearth turn her oiled body into a living torch. But Angique kept cranking the lever in the wall until Bobbi dangled inches above the marble tiles.
Walking up to the girl, Angique's green eyes were level with the wide-open blue ones. Her right hand started caressing the taut body, noting its throbbing heat. Her mouth was very close to Bobbi's, her breath mingling with the girl's as she spoke.
"You know I only tolerate you here to suffer for my misery, don't you, lil whore?" Bobbi panted, her mouth open. Cruel nails were pinching a nipple.
"Yes, Miss," she whispered. "I am here to pleasure you -- any way you want me to."
Angique slapped her hard, first her face, then her tiny tits on the rebound. Tears and spittle flew from the impact. There was a small sob -- then silence.
"Don't flatter yourself by thinking this is for you, slut," Angique went on, delivering two more slaps. "This is for me." She stopped the slow gyration of the dangling body, once more pushing her face into Bobbi's.
"Do you understand?" she hissed. "This is for the way my love for a girl was thwarted. A girl who isn't you. A girl I love. I'll make you suffer for what she did to me. Do you understand?"
Bobbi just stared back. Then she said:
"Yes, Miss, I understand. Please torture me, so I can heal your pain for the girl you love." Her voice was clear and steady.
Angique stepped back and produced a slender cane. During the next minutes she proceeded to whip the girl's entire body with it, leaving ugly bruises and purple stripes. Bobbi was silent throughout the inferno. The only sound to be heard was the whistling of the bamboo as it arched through the air and the sickening thuds as the wood made its impact on the flesh. There also were grunts and groans, but they didn't come from the victim's mouth -- they came from the lips of the punishing fury that Angique had become.
At last the cane flew through the air and landed in a corner. Angique let go of a scream and crumbled to her knees, hugging the dangling legs of the girl she'd abused. Her shoulders shook with sobbing as she cried into the moist, hot niche between Bobbi's thighs.
"Oh, Miss!" the girl wailed. The pain in her arms and shoulders increased from the added weight. "Please untie me so I can hold you and comfort you in your pain. Let me hug you, let me please, please hug you." But her Miss only held her tighter, pouring her frustrated misery into the tortured flesh of her scapegoat.
Alicia knelt at the door to Villa. She bunched her clothes against her naked body when Angique arrived. It was rather chilly in the corridor, making the girl shiver.
Angique saw her and stopped. She wore a short fur jacket over her leather corset. Shining black tights ended in square-heeled half-boots, laced up through eyelets and old-fashioned hooks. She raised her foot high to step over the supine girl and reached the door, opening it with her key. She never even acknowledged Alicia when she closed the door in her face.
It took the girl minutes to gather enough courage to rap softly on the massive wood. There was no answer. She knocked again, harder now, but the door stayed closed. Then she rose and banged the panel with her fists, crying out Angique's name. The invitation to enter never came.
Sighing, Alicia donned her blouse, jeans and coat. In the elevator she bent over to get into her boots. It saved her from seeing the reflections of her tearstained face in the all-around mirrors.
"Remember how we met in your Hanging Gardens, honey?" Angique caressed Ishtar's face. She rested on a chaise longue after the woman had eaten her to three orgasms that sadly did nothing to allay her inner rage. Ishtar smiled.
"I do, tendresse," she said. "Mes Jardins Suspendus. Those were days in paradise. I was your goddess of whores. You were my new-found love. The world was a weightless place."
"Yes. And then I had to spoil it all by trying to make you my slave." She smiled sadly into a face that shone with the remnants of her cunt juices. God, she thought, I know no one who eats me like she does. Why don't I feel better?
"No, Angique," Ishtar said after clearing her throat. "It was me who spoiled it. I was thrilled by the idea of being your slave girl. But I am a weak-willed slut, unable to be loyal even if it is the very thing I want to be. And believe me, tendresse, I still ache to be yours." Angique pulled the smeared face up to hers and licked the salty blend of sweat, snot and cunt juices off the woman's skin. She saw fresh tears being added to the mix.
"Don't cry, honey," she said. "We all are who we are. Goddesses, Mistresses, cheating bitches, loyal slaves... We all have our wishful dreams, but we are who we are. Strong or weak, loyal or treacherous, we can't escape our selves." Ishtar sniffed. Then she reached up and cupped Angique's face in both hands.
"Take me back!" she gushed in a loud whisper. "Let me make it up to you. Help me to be faithful. Please, with your help I can do it. I can!"
"Ishtar," Angique said, pulling the woman's hands away. "Get the Master." Ishtar slid off the lounge chair like a supple snake and slithered to the dark and ancient chest in the corner. As she crawled, her ass cheeks rolled and her tapering tits swung from her chest.
She returned with a huge black dildo between her teeth and a leather harness in her hand. Angique had also risen. She waited for Ishtar, pushing out her hips. Experienced fingers closed the harness around her ass and threaded the straps through the opening between her thighs. The receptacle rested against her slit, allowing the slippery knob of the dildo to touch the clit at its top. Ishtar locked the base of the monstrous cock in the receptacle and started to lovingly caress its length, trying to close her fingers around its base.
She looked up past the dark shaft, past a curving belly and the soft undersides of round, pale tits to find Angique's eyes. They looked down on her. Ishtar smiled and whispered:
"You are so beautiful, tendresse. Please do with me as you please, even if I don't deserve it." Angique's lips parted and let out an amused chuckle.
"Oh, but I shall, sweet whore, I shall," she said. "Now prepare your Master before he enters your ass hole and teaches you who you are."
Ishtar sank her lips over the shining head. It forced her jaws to open to their limits, leaving hardly any room for her tongue. She tried to swirl it around the shining leather, but Angique didn't allow her to get used to the bulbous helmet. She grabbed Ishtar's skull from behind and forced her mouth down the eight-inch shaft, making her gag mercilessly. When the straps of the harness at last touched the woman's face and the dildo was totally in, Angique let her hands slide past Ishtar's ears, closing them around her neck. She felt the bulge expand the throat, the head clearly traceable.
After a full minute of closing her windpipe, Angique let the monstrous shaft slide out. It was covered in mucus, fat slimy strands swirling and dripping off the leather. Angique smiled as Ishtar coughed, tears streaming down her face.
"Good," she said. "Well done. Now beg your Master to ravage your ass."
Ishtar begged -- and her fat, cruel Master ravaged as promised. But as soon as she lay exhausted on the cold marble floor, her ass hole burning, Angique kicked her and sent her away. Ishtar was in pain, but knowing that her sacrifice had failed to lift the black cloud from her adored Mistress's brow hurt her more. It made her crouch and sob as she slipped out of Villa.
Angique's scream echoed after her. It bounced around the room as she threw glass and earthenware to crash into the ancient walls. She fell back on the chaise longue mumbling a name that wasn't Ishtar's.
The yellow flame danced on a gentle draft, making drops of wax spill over at one side. Angique didn't notice. Her eyes pushed the candlelight out of focus as she stared into the semidarkness of a late night Salon.
"Angique," a soft voice said. "Do you hate me?"
With a start Angique pulled her awareness out of Nowhere Land. She had to blink before she really saw the brown eyes in the pale-olive face, framed by an abundance of black hair.
"Licia," she said. Her voice was rusty like a long-neglected tool. The girl just stood and stared, unblinking. Angique remembered she had asked a question.
"Hate," she said. "Why would you think I hate you?"
"You ignore me," the girl said. "You send me away, sounding angry. What did I do wrong?"
Angique let her eyes travel down the girl's body. She wore a baby-blue sweater over a white blouse and a short skirt over colored tights. It made her look very young. On her feet were plump, Uggs-like half-boots. Spring is still chilly, Angique mused, inwardly wincing from the banality of her thought. She let her gaze return to the girl's eyes -- wide-open, sad eyes, like a child's. Was she a child? How else could she not see the utter craziness of her question?
"Wrong?" Angique asked. "You?" She noticed that the mint tea in her glass felt cold where her hands strangled it in rising anger. A flood of bitter words rushed to her tongue, but she swallowed them. Then she said, to her own amazement: "If anyone's been wrong here, honey, it's me."
The girl changed her weight from one foot to the other. Her hands murdered a tissue, but she kept silent -- waiting. So Angique went on, pushing the tea away from her.
"I supposed you would care for me, just because I happen to love you. That is where I am stupidly wrong, isn't it?" Alicia's mouth opened, but Angique stopped her by lifting a hand.
"Honey, please, we are both intelligent people. I took you to my private Villa and to Atol, my secret island where you pledged your love for me. You agreed to follow the Journey of the Gates with me and to become my slave girl, my property. But after one simple session at a friend's home you fled again, returning to the safe arms of your novelist lover -- a lover who doesn't even care to show you to her family." Alicia's eyes shifted at that. Her mouth opened, but Angique stopped her again.
"Then things got pathetic," she went on. "I had to chase after you to beg for a kiss when you went to Berlin with your lover and I had to go to Spain. We would be apart for three weeks." Angique once again held up her hand to stop Alicia from interrupting. It annoyed her that her fingers trembled.
"You don't care much for me, Licia. You are a thrill-seeker. You visit my little horror-show to feel goose bumps, knowing you will soon be back in your safe little bed with your safe vanilla lover. And all those others!"
The last words rang out much louder than Angique intended. It startled the girl.
"Before you start denying," Angique said, now almost whispering. "And before you add lying to your cheating, just understand that I know about Amber. She came to me complaining that you dumped her after returning from Berlin. You made remarkable promises, after sleeping with her. You would become her lover, an "item at the Club" as you might call it. You even made the offer to live with her in the outside world. I can see now why you didn't have time to kiss me good bye, that day; it was a very busy day for you."
"I... I," Alicia began, but her voice gave out. Tears started running. Angique shivered as if struck by a sudden chill.
"Please, don't embarrass me more by lying, honey -- or by playing dumb. Don't ask me what you did wrong, as if you wouldn't know," she said. "And for God's sake, stop blubbering!"
It took Alicia a while to master her voice and then the sobs still caused her to pause.
"I... I guess what you are saying... I guess it may be the truth that I have made such an uhm, offer. But it wasn't that way. It was out of ambivalence." Her trembling lips mutilated the last word. Her eyes darted left and right. She looked completely lost.
"I got carried away," she went on. "If it happened at all -- I drank a lot... I mean I am not 100% sure of it. You may have all the facts and I can see what it looks like, yes. But I never meant to be a player."
Angique shook her head. Her shoulders sagged, causing one spaghetti strap of her top to slide off her shoulder. It took part of the lace camisole with it. Mindlessly pulling it back up she said:
"You must be a very busy girl indeed, Licia, to have such vague memories about things so important. Or are they just to me? Important I mean?" Alicia's eyes were down now; she looked entirely miserable, slowly shaking her head.
"You see now why I have to get away from you?" Angique went on, simultaneously fighting her anger at the girl and her urge to embrace her. "If you think so lightly about things that have etched themselves in my memory, how can I even dream of claiming a tiny part of your heart? It is so slippery, it slides through my fingers."
Alicia was a wreck now; tears ran silently down her cheeks. Angique felt her own eyes burning as well.
"Licia," she went on, trying to sort out her chaotic thoughts. "You are a dancer. You jump from heart to heart, trampling on them and leaving them wounded all around your private dance floor. Sarah's, Gina's, Amber's and God knows how many other's hearts. You may have told them anything, being carried away, no doubt. You may have said you loved them in your... ambivalence, you may have promised to visit them... In some cases you may have done that to more than one at a time and still think you are not a player -- at least not one who means to."
Angique closed her eyes. She hated the sarcasm her voice had acquired with the last words. Her hand went into her purse, taking out a white cotton handkerchief that she used on the corners of her eyes. Then she pushed it over to the girl.
"Darling," she said. "I don't hate you for this. I did for a while, but I think it is a waste of energy, really. You are who you are and you may call things any way you like. You may even believe that you never mean things to go the way they do. But see, Licia, you are not a wide-eyed teenager anymore. You are an experienced, divorced businesswoman who should understand the impact she has on others.
"Maybe you do understand it in what you consider the real world, but in here you act like a child. You are pleased and excited with all the attention you get and you think it has no consequence. The Salon is a playground for you, a safe place where no one can get to you. But you hurt people, girl, and by now you should know that.
"Please sit down."
Alicia didn't move at first, but then she lowered herself in a chair opposite Angique, who ordered two fresh hot teas. As they sat in silence, stirring the tea, Alicia said:
"I am so sorry."
"I know, honey," Angique said. "And in a way I guess I even believe you are. But it doesn't really matter, does it? It is never a reason for you to stop. The arousing lap dance intoxicates you, doesn't it? You are hooked. And whenever a person gets too close, or you get bored, or you find a new thrilling target, you drop her just like that. And when she asks you why, you claim confusion or panic and take the blame, agreeing that you are a monster and feel so very sorry about it."
Once more Angique had to lift her hand to stop Alicia.