Angel, Demons Pt. 04

"Honey," the woman said after long seconds of silence, her voice suddenly cold. "Will you please repeat that?"

"What?" the girl asked. "That I wasn't leaving?"

"No, not that, honey," she said, very calm now. "The thing you said about her not wanting you anyway."

The girl didn't answer, so the woman went on.

"Is that why you want to be back with me so hard, honey? Did the most exciting thing of your life dump you? And am I good enough again to fill the gap?

"Is that what I didn't understand?"

"NO!!" The small word crashed through the tiny speaker. "NO!! That isn't true at all! I love you, I always did, and you must take me back.

"You must!"

The woman looked at the blaring machine. Then she lifted it back to her mouth and said:

"Honey, there is nothing that I must do. Now think, darling and think for a good long while.

"Take your time, and only when you understand, call me."

"But it isn't fair!" the girl responded, rushing her words. "You never told me that if we were together that I couldn't love anyone else! You could have warned me, but you never told me.

"You never did... nothing."

The woman sighed.

"As I said, honey: take your time and when at last you understand, call me. Bye, sweetheart."

She never minded the flood of protests and shut the cell phone down. She felt exhausted; even a hot bath didn't help.

Nor did the glass of wine she poured against her better judgment - or the second.

***

A whore, divine.

The black hole of the empty fireplace stared back at her.

The woman sipped tea while once again trying to shrug off the thin film of melancholy that stuck to her. She insisted that it could be easily ignored, but if so, why did she have to remind herself so often?

Of course, it was about the little tramp.

Who cared? What the fuck was so special about her?

The slut could hardly compete with girls she'd had in the past, could she? To be sure, she was way out of league compared to girls she used now - even if they weren't girls at all, like the sweet, heartbreakingly loyal creature she'd strung up days ago, its ambiguous little body crisscrossed with the cruel signs of her frustration.

And she certainly was a pitiful dilettante compared to the goddess of whores that crouched at her feet right now.

She looked over the rim of her wine glass, watching the naked woman on the floor. She might not be young anymore. Her body was skinny and her tits had lost their firmness, though her nipples still stood out like fingertips.

There were spidery lines around her eyes. And she knew, without looking, that the woman's cunt lips were stretched and loose. Her sphincter gapped from serving too many fat cocks and strap-on dildo's.

But she was a glorious slut.

She was like her namesake, the whore-goddess of Babylon. She was open and available like the sacred priestess-prostitutes of old, spreading their thighs in service to their gods of carnal bliss. She licked women through unending strings of orgasms. She sucked cock like no one and presented her ass with the age-old grace of a well-trained slave.

She never hesitated - she was always ready.

Such a pity she also was a cheating slut, betraying her mistresses as soon as a chance offered itself. Her lying eyes were full of devotion, while she already planned her newest betrayal. Her soft voice spoke in adoration while her cunt ached to be abused by strange cocks and busy tongues.

"Ah," the seated woman sighed, turning another unread page of the book resting in her lap. Isn't it the eternal dilemma - so many selfish sluts to choose from, but so very few loyal enough to be trusted slaves?

She chuckled with sweet bitterness.

"Why are you such a shallow, mindless cheat, darling?"

Her voice surprised the slumbering creature. The woman lifted her head from the crook of her arm, leaving a thread of drool dangling.

"You know I never intend to, tendresse," she said with her hoarse, fucked-out voice. "You know I can't help it. I want to be yours, all yours, but I'm weak.

"Please forgive me."

She climbed to her knees and crawled over to the pale woman's naked legs, kissing them while hugging them tightly.

The woman smiled. Weakness, she thought, such a common excuse among sluts. She rested a pale hand on the short dark hair.

"You're forgiven, little whore," she said. "But one day soon I'll have to let you go. Now finger your sloppy cunt.

"I know you need it."

The woman looked up, tears in her eyes. Honest tears, she thought. Oh damn, will I ever understand the nympho mind?

The fingers of the slut's right hand slid down her belly and to her shaven mound where she started to rub her clit. It was huge - its head showing between her opening cunt lips. The cruel nails of her other hand bit into a nipple, stretching it painfully.

"Good girl - good bad girl," the pale woman whispered, returning to her book - and to her secret sadness.

***

A girl, on knees.

More days went by - slow, never ending days.

The first one was riddled with calls and voice mail messages from the girl. She ignored them all.

On day three she opened a text message. "OK, don't answer then," it said. "But you know I'm right."

She shrugged and deleted it.

She waited till all efforts of the girl to reach her petered out. Then she sat down in front of her laptop and wrote an e-mail.

"Honey," it opened. "Does it ever dawn on you that I don't respond to your messages so you won't have more opportunity to dig a deeper hole than you already did to bury yourself in?

"If you even remotely understood what you did to me, you'd be crawling on your knees and beg forgiveness. Instead, you prefer to call me crazy and an idiot who lives in a make-believe world of kinky sex and sick imagination.

"You beg of me to keep you, but all I read is that I should do this and I should do that. It also strikes me that you're greatly concerned to be 'right' about all this, no doubt to prove that I am 'wrong.' Victory over me seems to be a high priority.

"Please consider: are those the words of a true and loving slave? You see, the more you want to keep in touch, the more you prove how right I am in believing you don't love me, that you never understood your position and that you just use me when loneliness threatens to overwhelm you.

"So, you still think you want to be in my life? Get on your knees and beg for forgiveness. And you better mean it if you even want me to pay attention to you."

She pressed 'enter,' then waited.

When her laptop only minutes later pinged to announce an answer, she let out her pent-up breath. Opening the message, she noticed her fingers trembling - it annoyed her.

"You're right," the first line read. "On knees. Please forgive me. I know you're right. I don't deserve forgiveness, I know.

"But I'm begging."

***