For the Love of Licia Pt. 12byangiquesophie©
Chapter Forty-five: Leesha.
The sun touched the ocean in a swirl of reds and oranges. It bathed the lounging people on the beach, their bodies glowing from a day of tanning and playing in the surf. By now they'd showered and dressed up in their most fashionable summer outfits before returning to the beach where cocktails were mixed and small snacks served.
After dark, torches lit up the sand. A fat full moon drifted lazily on a downy bed of clouds. There was an open-air bar. The music of a tropical band lured dancers to the tiny floor. Anticipation hung in the balmy air -- promises of another night in paradise.
Angique had planned her bi-annual show of new designs to be held on the beach of the main island. It was a setting one wouldn't easily associate with her line of lingerie. But she never was one for embracing the obvious. She also loved to show how her erotic creations could be worn in tropical settings, extending her market. For her guests it was a welcome change from the ancient castles and posh European mansions where she usually did her presentations.
Yesterday and today they had flown in from all over the world. Angique met them at the reception, welcoming many of them with a hug. They were good customers as well as longtime friends, each of them anticipating the discreet and tolerant company of like-minded people for a few days. Right now Angique walked from group to group, keeping the conversation light and the glasses filled. But her mind was far away -- as far away as a plane might take you in six or seven hours, to be precise.
She'd been nervous these last few days, doubting her good sense in testing the girl. The message she got this afternoon seemed to confirm her worst fears. But what could she have done differently? She knew she took a chance, leaving the girl with the New York blonde. It had been a risk -- a silly, reckless risk it might seem by now -- 'giving the devil an inch' and all that.
Alicia had been quite clear when she told Angique about the intensity of the crush she'd had on the woman. Had it been unwise to push her along on her Journey by forcing her to be alone with Pamela, and serve her? Angique shrugged. What would have been the point of the whole exercise if she still couldn't trust the girl? If things went wrong now, wouldn't they also have later on? And wasn't it better to know now?
Angique forced her face into a smile when she greeted yet another of her guests, her mind wandering off to that morning.
Around eight the owner of the boat had informed her that the blonde called him to be picked up from Atol and taken to the main island. Angique had been in yet another rehearsal. In a hurry she'd told him to pick them up and bring them over, too busy to even wonder why Pamela'd wanted to leave prematurely. She started worrying when neither of the girls showed up by noon. She called the skipper and he told her he'd delivered the women at the hotel around eleven. But at the reception no one had seen them.
Angique sent a girl to the airport to learn that a tall blond American woman had indeed bought two tickets for the next flight to New York. The names were Pamela's and Alicia's. They were reported to have checked in to leave at 13.35. The plane had left on schedule to fly to Rome, where they would get a transfer to New York.
Licia didn't have her passport on her and yet they'd gone? Officials must have been bribed. But what about the dog? No one mentioned Brynn.
Back at the beach the faces in front of her looked expectant. She must have missed what they were saying. Smiling awkwardly she excused herself. It was no use trying to socialize as long as she felt like this. She turned away, but as she did so she thought she saw a glimpse beyond a row of torches -- a silver-gray flash; a pale ghost disappearing. Her heart skipped a beat. She rushed past the torches. Her eyes scanned the darkness beyond. After they got used to it, she saw a massive silhouette against the moonlit structure of the raised catwalk. Next to it was a smaller shape, crouching low.
She cried out; her lips shaped words as she rushed towards them. She fell to her knees, collecting the creature in her arms. "Mistress," was the response she got, feeling it vibrate against her chest. "It's been so long. Here I am..."
They hugged and kissed, kneeling in the sands. Tears ran down Angique's cheeks. Alicia just smiled, repeating: "I'm here."
"Yes, yes, you are," Angique exclaimed. "You are and I am so relieved. What happened?" Her question brought a puzzled look to the girl's face.
"Nothing happened," she said. "Nothing important. Pamela wanted to leave Atol, so we left and now I am here. She took the airplane back home." A sudden uncertainty flushed her face.
"Did she complain?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Did I not please her? Is that why she left early? Did she tell you I failed you? I didn't, you know? I didn't." Angique at once embraced her again.
"Oh no, no!" she said. "You did nothing wrong. I love you, honey. I love you. But I heard you'd left with her on that plane." Relief had replaced the alarm on the girl's face when Angique assured her she'd done well, but then sadness crept in.
"Who said so? I'd never leave you, Mistress," she whispered. Her voice was laced with hurt. "You must still believe I am a poor slave to think that. I am so sorry..." She buried her face and tits in the sand, arching her back and pushing out her ass in submission.
Angique just knelt there, feeling awkward as she stared down on the groveling girl. Her mind was in turmoil.
"I just...," she said, reaching for the fan of hair that spread out in front of her. She rubbed a curl between her fingers, studying it. "I thought she seduced you, trying to take you with her -- but you refused? You fled?"
The girl didn't respond for a while. Then she lifted her face. Grains of sand stuck to her skin, her eye lashes. She smiled.
"Does it matter, Mistress?" she said. "I am here. I am yours."
They kissed again under the velvet copula of a sky strewn with bright pinpricks. The fat moon sailed on, spreading its silver light. The distant surf's laughter mingled with the music and the contented murmurs of a crowd having a good time. The huge dog pushed his face between the bodies of his Mistress and his bitch. The three of them melted into an embrace.
"You did well too, Brynn," Angique said into the gray pelt. "You guarded your little bitch. Thank you."
The suite was huge. It was a penthouse on top of the resort's main hotel, overlooking most of the island through panoramic windows. Some of them were open to the terrace, letting the early morning breeze in.
The suite looked strangely empty to Angique's gaze, after having been crammed with stuff and people for the entire last week. Most of it was at the beach now, in the big tent they would use to prepare for tonight's show. She wondered if her girls had slept at all after the party, their heads buzzing from the music and the colorful cocktails, their sweet bellies humming with the butterflies of anticipation. Vain little exhibitionists they were, all of them. But who wouldn't, with bodies like theirs?
Angique always let them mingle with her guests the night before a show, dressed in sexy gear she'd designed for the occasion. She knew her guests appreciated it and it generated a welcome feeling of growing intimacy. She knew the girls would never cross the line by drinking too much; they loved working for her too much to risk their jobs. Of course there would have been a lot of dancing and flirting and groping, but never more than that, at least not before a show. They all knew that whetting an appetite was as important as the show itself.
She sighed, feeling the sleeping girl against her naked skin. She'd wrapped her body around the balled-up, fetus-like creature. It felt like carrying a baby in her womb, a small, glowing source of heat. Angique slowly traced the bumps of her spine until her finger disappeared into the dark forest of the girl's hair.
"My girl," she whispered. "We've come so far... almost there."
The girl moaned softly, letting her thumb slide out of her mouth.
"She wanted me to betray you, to betray us," she mumbled, her voice muffled by the bed.
"What did you say, honey?" Angique asked. "Who?"
The girl untangled herself and rose on her elbows. Her face was creased from sleep, pinkish where she'd pressed it into the mattress. She looked shockingly young.
"Pam," she said, letting her sleepy eyes wander until they met Angique's. "She wanted me to come with her..."
"I thought so," Angique said, brushing the stray hair out of the girl's face. "She booked a flight for you, but you didn't go." Alicia stayed silent. She looked away.
"You almost went, though," Angique then said. The girl sighed. "But you didn't, so don't worry, honey cunt, don't worry." Angique embraced her; they hugged.
"You... you tested me," the girl said, looking over Angique's shoulder. "And I almost failed."
"But you didn't," Angique said. "You are here. That is all I need to know."
"I love you, Mistress," Licia said.
"I know, honey," Angique answered. "And so do I."
They made lazy, tender love before showering, dressing and having breakfast on the lovely terrace -- just a last, relaxed moment before a crazy day.
"You passed the Gate of Oblivion, honey," Angique said, while adding a pinch of salt to her soft-boiled egg. The girl looked up from her bowl of fruit, a hesitant smile on her face.
"Did I?" she asked. "I guess so. When? And why is it called Oblivion?"
"You passed it when you walked out of that airport, honey, when you decided not to go with Pam," Angique explained. "You passed the Gate when you took the exit of the airport." Licia reached out to remove a splotch of yolk from Angique's lip. Angique stopped her hand and licked the yellow speck off the fingertip. They giggled.
"I'm glad, Mistress," the girl said. "I'm glad to pass these Gates for you, but it is not important anymore. I feel I am already at the finish. I really do." Angique studied the girl's face.
"That's what Oblivion is, honey clit," she then said. "Forgetting what isn't important anymore. You got rid of the last remnants of your little ego when you refused to give in to the crush you had on Pamela. You are free now to be who you really are." Alicia shrugged. She stared at her spoon that held chunks of juicy melon and strawberry, glistening with honey. She brought it to her mouth, wrapping her lips around it. She started chewing; then she swallowed. Her eyes were on Angique's all the time. Her hand gestured with the spoon.
"Will you sell me now?" she asked. There was no emotion, just the question.
"Will I what?" Angique said, shock tainting her voice.
"Pam said you sell your slaves when they are ready," the girl explained, her voice still void of emotions. "She said you'd make a lot of money on me."
Angique was gob smacked, both by the words and by the matter-of-fact way they were delivered. The girl didn't seem to care. Angique leant forward, trying to catch Alicia's eyes. She held her breath, wondering if she dared ask. Then she did.
"What would you say if I did plan on selling you, honey?"
Silence -- steady eyes, bobbing throat as the girl swallowed another bite of pulpy fruit.
"I... I guess I would be proud if you made a lot of money on me, Mistress. I'd be proud to know I earned it for you and that it would please you."
Angique dropped her napkin and slid off her chair. She rushed to the girl and sank on her knee in front of her. Her hands grabbed Alicia's face, holding it steady -- then shaking it to the rhythm of her words.
"I. Never. Will. Sell. You!" she cried out, punctuating the words. "You hear, girl? I. Never. Will. I love you too much. I need you. I could not live without you!" Then she hungrily sought the girl's mouth with her own -- kissing. Alicia at first just took the kiss like a passive doll. Then she started kissing back. Tears and saliva mixed as their faces fused. The kiss seemed to never end, but when it did, Angique still held the girl's face, her own only inches apart.
"Tonight I'll marry you, Licia," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. "You'll be my wife, my slave wife forever, my sex doll. You'll be mine; your eyes and face and body, your mind and soul and above all your tits and mouth and cunt and ass hole. You'll be all mine. I'd rather die than ever sell you."
The girl stared, utterly lost for words. Then she brought her face to Angique's again and kissed her. A phone rang. It kept ringing until it stopped. When it started ringing once more, they were still kissing.
The stage had gone pitch dark. The loud and dramatic final notes of the show's music echoed into silence; the only sound remaining was the rustle of the ocean's surf and the chirping of a thousand crickets.
Angique was a dark silhouette against the night-blue sky. She was nervous, feeling sure that everyone could hear the thumping of her heart from where she stood on top of the catwalk. Her knees were locked, her back straight. Down and around her she vaguely discerned the ghostlike faces of her guests. They floated in darkness like pale lampoons, looking up at her. After the cheering and applause for the show, the crowd had gone silent. Even the rush of murmuring voices had died down by then; everybody knew this wasn't the end yet. There had not been the traditional bridal outfit that signaled the end of the show, nor had Angique taken her leave amidst her models.
The show had been a success. She was convinced she'd surprised them once again, making their journey worthwhile. They had seen an amazing pageant of bold and sensually designed corsets and lingerie, displayed on spectacular bodies and paced through the show by the beat of arousing music. Every stitch had been meant to enhance the breathtaking girls that wore them, making them look taller, curvier and yes, sluttier than even the most perverted of her guests conjured up in their dreams. The tropical setting had allowed for a lot of skin and hotter colors. Angique was certain that the balmy air and the served cocktails had added to a general mood of arousal and excitement. She knew that she needn't worry about her business for the next year. But of course that wasn't why her heart was racing; or why her eyes burned with anticipation as she fixed them on the dark-in-dark entrance to the catwalk. It wasn't why her breath got stuck in her chest, tightly laced into her severest corset.
As so often, black had been the color of her choice for tonight. She wore leather as black as her hair and the make up of her eyes; her high-heeled boots were as black as her lips and fingernails; so were her gloves and the garters that held up her stockings. She was in full Mistress mode and the reason for that was hidden by the pitch-dark curtain sixty feet away from her.
No one, except her closest girls, had ever met Alicia or even known about her. Of course most of them had experienced the awesome hold the mysterious girl had on their boss's moods these last three years, but they'd never actually seen her. Today Angique had confined her to the suite. She'd let her sleep and lounge before having her bathed, pampered and prepared. Her luscious hair had been washed and styled, her baby-bare cunt scrutinized for elusive stubbles, her bowels flushed, her lovely asshole lubricated and closed with the most generous plug available. Her tanned skin had been massaged and oiled into a glow, her face made up to enhance her wide-open eyes. They had glossed her pouty lips and polished the nails of her fingers and toes. When they were done, the girl looked younger than she'd ever looked, at once innocent and obscenely sluttish. She was a little Lolita who'd been left alone to indulge her mother's entire make up kit.
Her bridal outfit would be as simple sit was spectacular: she'd be totally nude, but for her dangling french lilly, a white lace garter and white, towering platform heels. She'd be stunning, Angique knew -- if she indeed would be there, behind that dark, forbidding curtain.
A shudder ran down her back. It left a taste of nausea. Why would she be certain the girl was there? Maybe she ran, again. Why not? She'd done it before, hadn't she, and always when Angique thought she'd won her over. So why not now? She shook her head to chase away the vile thought, trying to concentrate again. But what if, her mind insisted. It would be the ultimate public humiliation. All these people, friends, years-long customers, employees, lovers... the disaster would be unthinkable; so don't think, Angique. Just don't.
A lonely, melancholic flute sent a slow glissando into the silent night. It sensually slid off an invisible staircase of notes -- stark naked, alone. Then it once more climbed to an optimistic peak before slithering down again -- how very appropriate, she thought. She knew the music; she shared the mood. "Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faun" it was -- the afternoon of a faun. So sweet and soft and sensual; it made the down rise on her skin.
Then a sigh ran through the crowd, rippling the sea of faces. A sudden spotlight pierced the darkness, seeming to origin from between the stars. It spread from a glaring pinpoint into a silver beam that washed a body crouching on the catwalk. There were no details, no colors -- just the one-sided clair obscure of the floodlight, suggesting mounds and plains and valleys.
As the music rose yet again, so did the body, slowly stretching as if waking up from a long, deep sleep. It was a girl, displaying the naked curves of her tits and hips and thighs, undulating on the tide of the music. "Licia," Angique thought. Her lips mouthed the slight change she would give the name from now on.
"Leesha!" she then said out loud, her voice amplified through the microphone that was ingeniously hidden in her leather head piece. She stretched the vowels. "Leeeee-shaaah..."
The girl stopped, struck by the voice. She stood tall on her whore-hooves, elevated by seven inch heels. Both her arms were stretched wide. Her body shone from the oil the girls had rubbed into her olive skin -- naked but for the garter, high on her thigh. That, and the dangling jewel caught the light, sparkling. For moments she just stood, seemingly stunned by the breathless attention. Then her thin, silver-lit body started moving again. She was like a willow in the storm the music provided. Her feet seemed to be nailed to the floor as she gyrated, pushing out her chest, then undulating down to her ass. Her arms were up, her hands moving like leaves.
"Come to me, Leesha," Angique's hoarse voice commanded, breaking the spell yet again. "Please."
The girl sank slowly down on the catwalk, following the music's lead. Then she started crawling forward on hands and knees, her face up, her eyes on Angique. The silver beam never left her, keeping everything else in darkness. She was like a tiny travelling island of light.
When she at last arrived, her face was only a foot away from Angique's highly polished boots. She leaned forward, touching each toe with her tongue before resting her face on the floor. Her back arched up, pushing her plugged ass out.
"Mistress," she mumbled softly, wanting her voice to be intimate. But her amplifying mike sent the word into the night like an all-embracing sigh.
Angique looked down on the girl. Then she slipped the toe of her right boot under her chin, lifting the face up.
"Welcome to Innocence," she said. "Welcome to the end of your Journey -- our Journey." She saw unshed tears sparkle in the girl's eyes.
Angique removed her foot. "Now rise to your knees, girl," she said. The girl renamed Leesha rose until she was straight-up on her knees, her hands crossed behind her back. Her black kohled eyes were wide-open, her fatly glossed lips trembled as she looked up to the woman she'd called her Mistress.