Angel, Demons Pt. 06

A girl, chained.

Darkness was the main feature of the room - or was it a room?

It was hard to fathom how big it was. The walls receded beyond the tight circle of light that came from a few torches.

Smoke tainted the air under the vaulted ceiling that rested on big, square columns. Music sounded, a beautiful, yet eerie duet by two lovely sopranos.

It was all around her, seeping in.

She'd been here before; the memory caused her left nipple to throb with long forgotten pain. She'd been blindfolded then, but she remembered the spiraling stone stairs that had brought her down here, guided by a leash which ran from her collared throat to the hand of the woman... ah, mistress now.

Mistress... she tasted the word.

The memories of what happened then made her shiver, but they didn't scare her, even when she knew they should.

The words of her... mistress kept her demons at bay, words she'd spoken when the fat plug nudged her scared anus, when the hood blinded her, when the needle hovered over her tit flesh - the words had silenced her fear.

'Trust yourself,' the woman had said, over and over, these harsh and painful days, weeks, months. They were just words, but repeating them inside her head, they caused stress to ebb from her body.

These last days, there'd been many moments when she'd repeated those words, trembling at the sight of yet another cruel contraption. There had been chains and wooden crosses, sawhorses and hooks, canes and whips.

They'd all conspired against her poor soft flesh.

When alone at night, she'd pressed the riding crop between her tits. The once dreadful object had almost become a friend after so many days of excruciating and exhausting punishment.

But still there had been times when even the magical formula didn't work. Those were the days she stayed in bed, hiding in her big old house. There was fear and panic then, but also the scary, churning lust to be with the woman.

The two emotions paralyzed her and caused her to stay away for long, horrible days and even more horrifying nights. But there was no point anymore in staying away, was there? Staying away had become more horrible than being with the woman, her... mistress.

'Trust yourself,' she mumbled as her bare feet left the last granite step of the stairs to walk into the circle of light.

"A dungeon," she mumbled, vaguely thrilled by the romantic connotations of the word. She stopped to look around, but the taut leash didn't allow it.

The woman pulled her towards the center of the circle, where she removed the leash.

She looked awesome, the girl thought.

The live flames of the torches highlighted her black leather outfit, strewn with metal studs, buckles and sparkling spikes. It was a corseted cat suit, cut out irregularly to leave the left shoulder and tit bare, as well as a never-ending right leg that gleamed with oil from the waist down.

The free breast swayed with her movements, the nipple covered by a round patch of studded leather. Both feet balanced on platform sandals that were tied to her legs with long, thin laces. Her skull and most of her face were hidden behind a masked hood.

Only the fiery red mouth and pale jaw were free, as were her red-taloned fingers.

When the hot tea had struck her face, now weeks ago, she thought she'd die from pain. Then she found out it was worse: she wouldn't die, but live on in a seemingly endless universe of hurt, her body spasmodically dancing, her bladder emptying, and her throat hoarse with screaming.

To her it felt like hours of debilitating anguish, but when the ice-cold cream was poured on her blazing face, not even a minute had passed.

The pain retreated before the soothing rescue of ice-packs, the panic smothered with embrace and sweet, sweet words.

"Trust me, darling... trust yourself. I love you."

It took the girl two days to find an explanation for her acceptance of the ordeal. Then she decided that it had been a just punishment for her lack of trust and her treacherous behavior - a way to atone for her failure, her life-long failures.

And, well, what alternative did she have, anymore?

That same evening she'd crawled back into the apartment, thanking the woman for her gift.

The woman hadn't said a word. She'd pulled her up by chains, spreading her legs and adding increasing weights to the chain dangling from the clamp on her clit.

All the while, she'd caned her tits and ass with a slender length of bamboo.

The girl expected the pain to be excruciating and, in a way, it was. But in so many other ways it was - different. Trying to hold on to the woman's dark green gaze, she felt herself sink into the pain, embracing it. It amazed her how each new stroke of the cane started radiating waves of intense pleasure into every newfound niche of her strung up body.

Relaxing her muscles, she opened-up to the beating, pushing out her hips, jutting out her tits to anticipate each blow and welcome it.

She'd felt like a torch lit by agony, fueled by ecstasy.

She'd groaned and squealed, crying out 'thank you's' at every blow that spiraled her up to yet another height, yet another unseen pinnacle - and then she'd come, hard, never stopping until the last merciless strike hit her body.

And then some.

***

A girl, frozen.

"Get over here, please, honey cunt."

The voice woke her from her reverie. The sopranos were singing a different duet, lower, more sensual, licking at her ears.

She saw the woman standing by one of the square columns. She looked all leggy, like an exotic insect in the shining scales of her studded leather. The column sported heavy metal rings at different heights. One of them, at chest level, held a length of chain, dangling down.

The girl felt her heart thump as she approached the woman.

She just stared at the girl, her face close enough for glints of emerald to be seen inside the slits of her mask. Then she grabbed the strong D-ring in the girl's collar and fastened it to the last link of the chain. She let the heavy shackles fall and walked around her.

The girl felt her hands being cuffed on her back.

"Wait," the woman said. Then she walked beyond the circle of torches. The lights reflecting off her cat suit were swallowed by darkness, and she was gone.

The girl looked around.

She saw how the chain hung in a loop, giving her enough slack to walk a generous circle around the column, but she knelt by its base.

She focused on the object that stood close to the column.

A grate lay over smoldering embers. A long rod jutted up from the coals, right through the grate. Though she had no idea what it might be, she felt a distinct threat emanating from the iron. It caused her to repeatedly mumble her magical formula - 'trust yourself.'

The sound of the woman's metal heels had never been entirely gone and soon the footsteps returned. There were more sounds, like the grating of iron on stone and muffled voices. Then - right where she'd disappeared - the woman stepped back into the circle of light, and she wasn't alone.

Her red-clawed fingers grabbed an abundance of dark hair that was attached to the head of a woman she knew - a naked woman in her forties, maybe. She was thin and her skin looked pale. She was on elbows and knees, making the long nipples on her dangling tits graze the floor. What was her name again?

The woman pulled the crawling creature into the light where it blinked its eyes.

"You know her," she said.

Yes, she knew her; she knew her better than her mistress might be comfortable with. At the club, she was everybody's slut. She was one of the many sleazy secrets of her clan of friends; the woman they all fucked, but never talked about. They even declined to greet her in the salon, but it seemed she didn't mind.

The woman led the crouching creature up to the girl, where she made it kneel.

"She's my gift to you today, honey," she said.

Walking behind the girl, she pulled her to her feet and made her stand over the kneeling woman. The creature's hands rose until they rested on the girl's thighs, pulling them apart. Then she pushed her face into her crotch and started licking her clit.

Not a word was said.

The masked woman embraced the girl from behind, pressing her studded body into her back. She fondled her tits, starting to tweak the nipples. The girl moaned and spread wider, lowering her cunt. Her eyes closed and her head rested against the woman's chest, rolling left and right... her mistress.

"Today you'll reach your next stage, honey cunt," the woman breathed into her ear. "One step closer to perfection. Pain will ignite pleasure and together they'll overwhelm you; they will be so intense that you'll pass out.

"And when you come to, you'll be changed."

The woman's nails tortured the soft flesh while the creature below invaded the girl's cunt with her stiff tongue, a wet fingertip rubbing her clit.

Her bent thighs started trembling; she lost control. Mewling like a kitten, she got close to her climax. Then the licking creature stopped, leaning back. The woman kissed the girl's neck and left her tits alone. Frustration found its way out in a wail of disappointment.

It mingled with the singing voices, slowly winding to a climax - then breaking off too, creating an echoing silence.

The woman smiled.

"Be patient, greedy slut," she said, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the torchlight. There was a screeching metallic sound. It belonged to a contraption the woman and the creature pushed closer across the floor until it stood right before the girl, bolted to iron eyelets in the stones.

It was a construction made of silvery metal pipes, bent and twisted into the inverted shape of a body.

When she pushed the girl into it, she fit perfectly into her own, personal cage. It left her tits free to be pushed through the maze, while the cold metal pressed against her chest and thighs, making her shiver.

The girl felt how her arms were freed, only to be tied, over her head, to the construction. She heard the woman's quickening breath as she worked on her limbs and body, pulling straps and closing buckles until the girl lunged forward in a frozen leap - arms high, legs spread. Her exposed ass was pushing out; she couldn't move a limb.

A warm, slow hand caressed her backside as the voices started singing again, sweet, almost childlike - swelling into a choir.

A wet tongue re-entered her cunt. Flashes of well-known pain assaulted her tits when weighted clamps bit into them, stretching her nipples.

She felt a tugging at the fat plug in her ass - the plug she wore every day now, not even noticing it anymore. It slowly slid out, caressing the tight convolutions of her bowels and sphincter. An oiled finger entered as soon as it was vacated; two more slid into her cunt, fucking her slowly. The waves of arousal gathered again, lifting her to the brink of impending climax.

Of course, they stopped at the very edge again, as did the music, bringing tears of frustration to her eyes.

***

A girl, singed.

She trembled against the rack while slowly coming down from her second almost-orgasm. Her shaking made the metal rattle. Then one single hand came to rest on her right ass cheek, close to her hip.

"Do you want to come some more, honey sweet?" a voice whispered into her ear. She just groaned.

"I thought so," the voice went on. The hand slapped the spot it had caressed. Three more slaps started a little fire in the flesh beneath it. The whispering voice returned, slipping through the growing buzz that surrounded her.

"I'm going to mark you, honey. I'm going to baptize you with a torrent of pain - making you mine."

The voice wasn't cruel. It wasn't friendly either; it was matter-of-fact.

"Do you agree?" it said after a moment.

A tongue found her clit, a finger entered her open asshole. Oh god, it had become so sensitive. She moaned.

"Do you agree?" the voice repeated, but the words were muffled and far away. She couldn't move her head; her tongue seemed to be swelling in her mouth.

Agree... to what?

Loud music suddenly filled the vaulted space.

It swirled and twisted like a storm. Shrill female voices rang out, rolling along as if riding a storm. She knew it, there were riding furies, blond Viking women... but her thoughts were devoured by sucking tongues, probing fingers - and fear, growing into heart-pounding panic.

A waft of acrid smoke assaulted her nostrils, making them flare. Staring into the darkness, past the torches, her head fixed, her body bound, she felt the fear building. The quickening tongue and fingers distracted her, but not enough to allay her growing anxiety.

She chanted her mantra of trust inside her skull, but the panic rose straight through it, winding and climbing with the delirious voices and the overwhelming music.

An irrational but very real attack of claustrophobia squeezed her throat shut. She cried "no!" but nothing came out; just a weak gurgling, lost in the maelstrom of sounds.

A hot, weak mouth closed over her clit, sucking on it, driving her mad; fingers fucked her cunt and filled her ass. Then something new happened. It felt like a heat source coming very close to the spot on her ass cheek that had been slapped. It lingered over it, radiating its heat into the flesh.

She mewled in panic - it sounded like the heart-breaking voice of a lost child.

"Sssssh, sssh," the voice breathed into her ear. "Trust me. It won't be long. You'll be so proud. I'll be so proud."

A hand started to caress her back as a wet mouth kissed her shoulder. "I'm here, honey. Trust me; trust yourself. All will be fine... more than fine. I love you, you're not alone.

"You'll be mine, I'll be yours.

"Just another second."

As the crazy, milling music went on, the tongue on her clit and into her screaming cunt once more took her arousal to the edge of orgasm. Currents of pleasure ran to all parts of her restrained body, igniting a fire that jumped from one nerve ending to another. Her nipples exploded in a cloud of needles when the clamps got off, her toes clawed, her fingers strangled the metal pipes she was bound to.

"Are you ready, honey?" the voice asked, but the roaring of blood racing through her temples cut off her hearing. Blind ecstasy ran through her body, a forest fire, contracting and expanding - gathering to destroy her with one all-encompassing conflagration.

The girl came.

And when she did, a searing pain struck the flesh of her pushed-out ass cheek. It was a pain more intense than she ever experienced. It felt like a fiery claw digging into her skin and setting it on fire.

The stench of burning flesh struck her and she screamed, she screamed until her voice broke into an endless series of shuddering sobs.

What must have been seconds felt like eternity as the white-hot iron branded the girl's immaculate flesh.

She shook the bars of her prison, wailing in pain and anguish, but she kept coming and coming all the time, pushing her cunt hard against the fucking tongue, squeezing her sphincter around the intruding fingers, and humping her flesh into the searing iron.

It made her feel like a burning tree in an all-consuming fire.

And then she passed out.

***

A girl, marked.

The French lily was less than two inches tall.

It sat on the back of her right hip where only its tip would show from under regular cotton panties. The hurt and the swelling had mostly gone. It wasn't the pain that kept her feeling mad; or even the permanent marking. On the contrary, she admitted that it had become quite pretty. But what she couldn't accept, was the violation; she felt abused, used like mindless cattle. She felt raped and, above all, betrayed.

In the end, it was her pride that got hurt the most.

She remembered recovering from passing out. She lay stretched out on a soft mattress, belly down. First thing she felt was the muted pain in her right ass cheek. She reached for it, but a hand stopped her.

"Better not, honey," a voice said. "Not yet." It was the woman's. The girl looked up to meet her face.

"What did you do to me?" she asked. "Did you burn me?"

"I branded you," the woman said. "I gave you my mark of the Lily. Everything's fine, honey; you'll never have to wonder to whom you belong anymore - you're mine now; all mine.

"I'll protect you with my life."

The girl rose on her elbow, looking for the brand.

"Careful, honey, it's still tender," the woman said.

The wound looked angry, red and swollen. A hot flash of sudden anger rose from the girl's chest.

"Fuck you!" she screamed, pushing away the woman's hands and scrambling to her feet. "What did you think? You had no right! You never even asked me, okay?

"You raped me!"

"But...," the woman began. The girl cut off her words.

"You must be fucking crazy!" she cried. "You, you just burnt that thing into me, okay? Never asking... never...

"It will forever... I'll be..."

She burst into tears, her arms flailing, her fists hitting. The woman grabbed them. Then she embraced the crying girl, hugging her tightly.

She didn't remind her that she'd asked her to agree. She hated being on the defense; it was so far beside the point, wasn't it? She saw it might take a while before the girl would be able to listen anyway. She kissed her hair, rocking her softly.

"I love you," she whispered.

Minutes later, the girl left in a cloud of sobs and angry accusations. She avoided the club, running straight to her car to drive home. Tears blurred her vision and she winced each time her burnt flesh moved on the seat. It's over, she knew, it's so very definitely over.

Thinking that opened new sluices.

***

A girl, nowhere.

A week went by - the girl spent its first days and nights in simmering indignation, even hatred for the woman who'd violated her.

But those days and nights were lonely - lonelier even than before. She dared not see her friends. Her business relations had faded from neglect. Besides, there were a lot of people she had to avoid after the awful things she and the woman did at the priest's home.

She was alone, sad, insecure and isolated.

Reason enough to keep up her anger. But strange enough, it proved to be hard work. It felt like having to keep a fire going under a blanket - not enough oxygen.

She had to blow on it, wondering why the flames didn't rise higher.

At first only a few times a day, then more often she got to her bathroom, inspecting the flower brand while twisting her body in front of the mirror. The spidery lines had tightened and turned dark, standing out against her smooth, tanned ass cheek.

It had a relief that she could trace with her fingertips.

Even in the dark of the night, lying in bed, she could 'read' the shape of the flower. And each time she did, the brand's meaning sent a thrill through her body. She felt a subtle tingling - as if there was a direct connection from her caressing fingertip to the nerve endings in her clit and nipples.

Images flooded her mind when she saw or felt the brand. And with them a craving seeped in - a need to surrender, to belong, to be with the one that owned her.

Her mistress.

She hated it when that happened, but it happened every time - and each time the feelings grew stronger. Soon she had to admit that she started looking and touching only to feel the tingling and the flowing of her cunt. She cursed under her breath, but she also whispered the name of the woman who'd branded her - claiming her as her own.

She realized that the only reason for her loneliness was her refusal to be where she knew she belonged now.