Angel, Demons Pt. 04

A girl, back.

The knock on the door was soft and hesitant. The woman looked up from her book and said: "Come in."

When the big door opened, her heart jumped.

"Honey," she said, having to force her voice through a suddenly tightened throat. "It's been weeks. I missed you, girl, are you all right?"

The girl stood naked on the doorstep. Her dress and underwear were in a bundle under her arm. She dropped them after closing the door. Then she went down on her knees, clutching a black riding crop with both hands.

The jewel swung on her left nipple, sparkling with the movement.

"I missed you too," she whispered, lowering her brow to the cool marble tiles. Her spine sloped up to her gorgeous ass.

"I'm so sorry."

The woman rose and walked over. She was dressed in tight leather leotards and a loose-fitting gray satin blouse that allowed a pale expanse of cleavage.

She knew what the girl went through, during and after the ordeal; she'd been there herself, dangling in darkness for hours, sliding through an entire life's worth of emotions, running from sheer panic to utter fatalism, before the nuns of the convent had let her down - collapsing on numb and useless legs.

So young she'd been, so alone.

For days, she'd cried at the drop of a hat, responding to the questions of fellow schoolgirls with wide-eyed silence - a ghost doling through the ancient building, by day and night. Even pressed by mother superior, at her imposing desk, she'd been unable to find a syllable in her empty mind.

She knew not to ask.

Getting down on her haunches, she reached out and lifted the girl's face by putting a finger under her chin.

She saw tears running from the dark brown eyes.

"Don't cry," she said, removing the moisture with her other hand. "I love you, remember?" It didn't stop the crying. She embraced her, spoiling yet another precious blouse.

"I... I understand now," the girl said, her voice muffled by the silk.

"I'm an ungrateful bitch," she went on. "I did everything to avoid you. You were so nice to me and all I did was staying away..."

The woman laughed.

"Yes, you did. But you're here," she said. The simple truth of her statement silenced the girl. She looked up.

"I'm not worthy," she then said, before crying out when the woman pushed her away and slapped her cheek. Her angry face pushed itself into hers until their noses touched.

"Don't you ever tell me you're not worthy, cunt!" the woman hissed. "You understand, you say? You don't! It offends me, you hear? As if I ever, ever would choose a girl not worthy of me!

"Am I such a fumbling loser in your eyes that I could not judge your worth - your talents?

"Do you think I would waste my time on a failure?"

The woman rose to her full, stiletto-enhanced length, looking down on the girl who once more pressed her brow to the floor, shaking. It's so easy to be soft now, she thought, to have pity on the thing, but it would ruin everything - sanctioning the girl's wallowing in self-deprecation.

Loving her made it easy to spoil her. Watching her cry like a child did hurt; hearing her sobbing her damn sorry's again, and taking the blame.

Too tempting, too easy.

"Maybe you think you understand," she asked, hardening her voice. "But deep down you hate this, don't you, slut? Crawling back to me? You'd hoped to be stronger. You think it is weakness that brings you here, don't you? I am a weakness in your eyes, am I not? A defeat. Be honest.

"Am I?"

The girl looked up, just working her mouth; there were no words to be found.

"Well, I'm not!" the woman growled. "On the contrary, and you know it. It is the other way around: weakness keeps you away. You're scared of what attracts you to me. You're too damn scared for your own good, girl. That's why you need to blame others - me.

"You blame me for your weakness. Don't deny it!"

The woman was by now a dark, burning angel standing at what might be the gates of hell - or paradise. Or both?

Every word of her stung like a flaming sword. The golden, dangling girl knew they held the truth, but the girl sobbing on her knees knew it was a truth she could never live with. It was a truth that stripped her soul more thoroughly naked than her body had ever been. So, as always when she was confronted with a dilemma, she broke down crying, mumbling yet again how sorry she was.

The woman picked her up and held her tightly. Her lips found bare throat and chest to kiss.

"Just know this, cunt," she whispered into her ear. "I am the only one who appreciates who you truly are. And that isn't the girl sobbing excuses; it is the girl dangling from the chain, proudly knowing who she is.

"I am the only one who loves you because of that - not despite it.

"Now kneel and clean my boots."

***

A girl, flung.

Live became unbearable.

She'd been accepted back in the capricious hands of the woman. But she'd never giving up her claim on 'normal' life.

It made her feel as if tied to an elastic band, propelling her to the woman before tearing her away and slinging her back to her girlfriend and her normal life - only to toss her yet again to the woman.

Normalcy was: her business, her town, her friends and her reputation. It also was the tie to her girlfriend, however fragile that was.

She could be sweet. She also could be unbearably arrogant, taking her superiority for granted. The girl was in awe of her impeccable taste, her worldliness, her ease, her French and Spanish. It made her feel inferior when they went out to see friends and business associates, the few times she took her.

She didn't mind being shown off as a trophy, but she hated being ignored during conversations. She loved to serve her girlfriend and her friends drinks and cook for them, but hated to be treated like a servant.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

How could she despise her girlfriend's high and mightiness, while craving the thorough humiliation the woman showered on her. Maybe because it felt phony?

In bed, her girlfriend was all but dominant. She was incredibly reserved and conservative. As soon as they went to sleep, the lights went out, and often there wouldn't be sex at all.

And finally, there would always be the quiet bitterness of not introducing her to her Italian family.

Her normal life meant being alone a lot, feeling ignored, and when stretches of lonely evenings or empty nights yawned, she went to the club to bath in the woman's love or to tremble from the breathtaking emotions she stirred in her masochistic soul. And whenever the woman wasn't there, she gave her body to anonymous fucks by some of the shadier girls around - knowing she'd regret it immediately, but unable to say no.

Her times with the woman were intense and often confusing.

When she scratched at her door, naked and holding her clothes, she never knew what woman she might encounter. One day she seemed mad at her and rude in her commands, tying the girl up and fucking her with a monstrous black strap-on dildo.

The next day, or even the next hour, she might be tender and loving, kissing her and making the sweetest love to her on the soft rug in front of the fireplace - or on the bed, or in the bath.

She would make her wear new prototype corsets or wildly erotic lingerie, and show them off to clients, allowing them to feel her up, making her undress in front of them.

On other nights, she would take her to concerts and ballets; or to parties, dressed outrageously. And then again, they would just go out shopping, sipping soda and gossiping like the oldest of friends.

They would be talking deep into the night and giggle like teenage girls, drinking wine and eating fresh fruit or slippery oysters. But like the turning of a page the woman could change back into a fury from hell. She'd bend the girl over a chair and fuck her into a blubbering heap of Jell-O, slapping her skin until she was red all over.

The girl's moods changed just as often.

When she was punished or strap-on fucked her mind seemed empty of every thought - just floating on a sea of lust. When the woman talked to her lovingly, the girl seemed caught in a magical web of arousal, even forgetting there was an outside world at all.

But when she left the hypnotic circle of the woman's voice and eyes, guilt flooded her. The magic poofed, and the golden girl was nowhere to be found.

Reality showered her like a cold winter's rain.

One night she huddled between the woman's spread thighs, just listening to the fairytale voice. It made her sink into a state of pink, fluffy bliss, aching to hear the next word, craving the next caress as her fingers rubbed her swollen clit.

The woman asked her if she'd accept another present.

Images of a glaring sun on a white beach flashed by. Her still tender nipple throbbed, plunging her into a state of helpless indecision.

"It would make you... well... even more precious," the woman said. "Wouldn't that be something?"

The girl had rested her head back against the woman, feeling a slow climax flush her fingered cunt. 'Pussy,' she thought. I should think of it as my pussy.

***

A girl, bent over.

She felt the woman's soft lips on her brow.

"Please rise," she said, "and walk over to that club chair over there, next to the fireplace."

She felt her body's urge to obey - and the reluctance of her mind. She also felt the weakness of her knees - the familiar echo of the slow, delicious orgasm she just had.

She rose and walked until she reached the old leather chair.

"Now please fold your upper body over its back, darling," the voice behind her said. "And show me your lovely ass."

She hesitated. Then she pushed her hips into the high back and bent forward, her hair pooling on the seat. Spreading both arms, she grabbed the sides of the chair, her tight ass rising high. The shaven pussy lips peeped through her spreading thighs.

She had to stand on tiptoe.

A few breathless seconds later, the woman's warm hand caressed the curve of the girl's left ass cheek. It felt dry and curiously rough. Then she smelled the rubbery scent of latex. Her muscles tightened.

A shiver ran through them, rippling the skin.

She's like a little, nervous thoroughbred, the woman thought - my little pony, and she chuckled. Then she spread the buttocks with both hands, blowing softly on the tiny star that closed the girl's anus.

It responded by relaxing and tightening like a pouting mouth.

"Your ass is your best asset, slut," the woman said and touched the star with a kiss. "You should use it more."

A muffled moan came from below as the woman's tongue pressed against it. Her finger ran through the crack to find the puffy lips of her pussy.

"But your cunt is sweet too."

The woman spread the thighs wider to reach the ripe peach between them.

"By the way, darling, you of course know that sluts don't have pussies? Didn't I tell? Of course I did. They have cunts; you have a cunt, little slut, a juicy, hungry cunt." She squeezed it and talked on. "Wouldn't it be ridiculous to use silly words like breasts or vaginas on a glorious slut like you?

"It's tits now, sweet whore, and cunt."

She slapped the tight ass-cheeks into a jiggle. Then she touched the lips again.

"Cunt lips," she whispered, breathing on them. It startled the girl and two sparkling drops of moisture dripped from her slit.

"Nice and juicy."

The woman bent down and licked them up. It made the girl's legs tremble without control; her toes danced on the marble floor. A sudden gush leaked down the insides of her thighs. Chuckling, the woman scooped the moisture off the skin and spread it over the shining cunt.

"You come so easily," she commented, "and so often."

She slipped two latex-clad fingers into the slit, slowly sawing them in and out.

The muffled moaning went on; there was no pause.

***

A girl, peeled.

She hung, gasping.

The back and arms of the chair shaped a close, round space. She smelled the leather in a still pool of ancient fragrance, stirred by her breath. The tiny, safe place made her feel like a little child: what you don't see isn't there.

It was a fake safety, but it soothed her agitated mind.

So many things had lost their edge of horror. She'd drank piss. Dirty drunks had pawed her body until she couldn't stop coming. A demon had pierced her nipple until it bled.

And she'd hung in darkness, waiting like she waited now - lost, uncertain, alone.

The woman told her she was a slut - and she agreed. She was a slut with tits and a cunt. And now she was an open ass, a hole, begging to be abused.

A tear ran down her inverted forehead. Or was it up?

Inhaling hot, stale air, she no longer wondered why she didn't run. The woman's eyes had taught her. As had the golden, dangling girl.

They'd shredded the cocoon of hypocrisy she'd wrapped around her soul, petal by petal. They'd exposed who she really was - peeling off her dishonesty.

The woman had stripped her naked long before she ever took off her clothes. She wondered if free will existed between those green, penetrating eyes and the soft, insisting voice.

New tears ran from her eyes to drip down her brow.

The woman humiliated her with casual ease, telling her she was nothing. She didn't disagree, almost feeling relieved. The idea had smarted for a minute, like parting with an old friend, even if he had long since become a burden.

There was guilt, of course; could there ever not be guilt and shame? But mostly there was a rush of unexpected freedom. There were no expectations left, no responsibilities.

All she needed was a tiny bit of courage.

The courage to be nothing.

Nothing was everything.

And everything was fine.

***

A girl, plugged.

First, there was a slick hand, warm and rubbery - like a doctor's. It roamed her buttocks, making small circles. Then, suddenly, the open hand slapped her hard. Its impact made the cheeks jiggle.

The woman called them her ass, judging them her best asset.

While rubbing the abused flesh, she licked the closed muscle of her anus and named it her asshole, mocking the hypocrisy of calling it by any other name.

By the time the gloved hand kneaded her oozing pussy, the girl was told that she never had breasts or a vagina.

"It's tits now, sweet whore, tits and a cunt," the voice murmured. "Be proud of them. You have the sweetest and easiest cunt ever. Now you tell me, slut. Say it." Oh god, yes, she knew how the woman was right by then - and she shuddered, coming hard on the invading tongue.

"I-I am a s-slut," she stammered through waves of bliss, her words muffled by her leather cage. "I-I have tits. I have a c-cunt; I have an ass-asshole.

"I-I am... I am... oh god..."

When she came out of the haze of her orgasm, an object dropped next to her face in the chair's well. Even in its gloom she saw the shape and knew what it must be.

Its size made her shudder.

"So, you have a wonderful cunt, darling," the voice went on as the gloved hand resumed the slow circling of her ass. "But we all know a perfect slut needs more - if she's serious about offering... anything."

The hand arrived at her asshole, tapping it with a finger.

Then a warm, syrupy liquid dripped on it, and the fingers began to rub it in, pushing at her anus until one fingertip forced its way inside, making the girl groan.

She was no virgin to anal probing.

Even as a little girl she'd experimented there, and her husband had tried his luck once or twice until he declared it too tight and too messy.

The woman obviously thought otherwise, adding a second finger to her probing. Squelching noises reached the girl in her hot little chamber, and she hoped she wouldn't add embarrassing sounds and smells.

"Did you find my little gift, darling?" the woman said.

The girl reached inside the chair to pick up the heavy black cone. It was a plug indeed, and she knew where it was supposed to go.

"Will you please take care of it, honey?" the woman asked. "You won't regret it."

She chuckled, as she forced two fingers down the sphincter, feeling how the muscle relaxed, yielding to her aggression.

"Trust me, honey," she went on. "Relax... it's so much nicer."

The wet suckling noises coming from inside the chair made her smile. Her free hand went on caressing the ass cheeks, while she pecked them with small kisses.

"Good girl," she said. "Spread your legs a bit wider, so there will be room for my tongue."

Within minutes the girl was on the brink of another orgasm. She'd never come from being fucked there - it must be the sheer cocktail of humiliation and fearful anticipation.

Then, abruptly, the woman stopped, allowing the air to chill her wet skin. Her legs trembled without control. She breathed hard, before closing her lips around the plug again.

Two latex-clad fingers plunged into the girl's cunt, wetting them on her juices before forcing them into her still open ass hole again.

A moan rose from the well of the chair.

Once again, the woman brought her to just below the crest of a climax, fucking her ass while teasing her clit, mixing the sensations into one sexual experience - waves of arousal overriding discomfort.

"Wait now, honey, don't come," she whispered, removing her fingers and leaving the girl to totter on the very edge of orgasm. Her suckling mouth oozed saliva on the bottom of the chair. Time went by; the girl just stood on her toes, gradually breathing slower, feeling her built-up climax slip away as the hands kept caressing her ass cheeks.

"Before this week is over, honey, you'll be fucked in your ass by a monster cock," the woman informed the girl as she reached into the well of the chair to retrieve the slippery plug.

"A live one."

"So, we shouldn't be stingy with your first-ever training-plug," she added. "It is your first, isn't it? Aren't you excited?"

There was no answer.

The fingers returned to the oiled anus, while the other hand pressed the tip of the plug against the still dripping cunt. God, it felt big, and heavy. The girl moaned into the hot space surrounding her. A drop of sweat ran up her face.

"Too big," she mumbled. "No. Ah god..."

How on earth had she ended up here, an adult woman, married and divorced, having her own business - folded over a chair's back, offering her naked ass to be raped?

Madness, she thought, I'm mad. But she didn't move. Or, well, she did. Her ass did, churning into the pressing plug.

"Good girl," the voice repeated as one hand slapped her ass cheek while the other kept pressing.

She thought she might burst. Then she knew she would. And then the monster slipped in, the collapsing muscles spreading a tingling glow.

Oh god, so full she felt, so utterly conquered.

Wet lips kissed her ass cheeks, while a rubber hand stroked her inner thigh. She trembled on her toes.

The plug didn't stay in her pussy for long, though. Soon enough, the hand started pulling it out and forcing it in again, fucking her once, twice, three times, until it was taken out with a pop.

"Oh my," the woman's voice said. "It's dripping. You must be horny, darling." Wet kisses rained on her skin.

While she'd been fucked in her cunt, the fingers had re-entered her asshole, twisting and turning, until they too withdrew, leaving her strangely empty and open.

Panting from the onslaught, the girl waited for things to come. Things that weren't hard to predict, and easily feared. How could the monster ever fit if it felt so huge in her vagina - her cunt? How could she live through it - the pain?

There would be pain.