Angel, Demons Pt. 06

She'd burnt bridges.

It made her cry out in frustration.

Emptying another bottle of wine, her mind wallowed in a hazy world filled with cotton and sweet gossamer spun all around her. Could she even begin to consider going back? Could she not? But would she be accepted?

She shuddered, thinking of all the harsh curses she'd hurled at the woman.

Her fingers fumbled with the slick shaft of the riding crop she pressed between her tits. She inhaled its ancient smell, imagining the decades of blood, sweat and tears leaving their traces - the pain, the ecstasy.

Lowering her lips to its knob, she softly sucked on it. She must have been whispering to it for quite a while before she realized what she was doing.

"Please," she said, fondling the worn leather. "Please tell me she'll take me back. I have been stupid once again, but there is no place else for me to go.

"Tell me I can go back to her; that she'll forgive me."

She sucked the shaft's ending, letting it slide onto the curl of her tongue. Her left hand crawled down her body, her fingers finding the lily-shaped relief on her ass cheek.

Her cunt wept slow, sweet tears as it took in a familiar intruder. Shuddering through a deep, booze-numbed climax, she sagged back onto her bed.

***

The girl knelt at the huge door to the apartment, next to her bunched clothes. It was rather chilly in the corridor, making her shiver as she pressed a slender black object against her chest.

The woman saw her and stopped.

She wore a short jacket over a leather corset. Shining black tights ended in 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 the girl 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 the woman's name.

The door yielded under her force; it hadn't been locked.

***

A woman, loved.

"I'm back," the girl murmured into the tiled floor, lying on her knees, bent over.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked. She stood by the fireplace, still in her jacket and boots. "Or is it just another of your little tourist's promises?

"Another free offer to draw me into your next pitfall?"

She took a few steps to the crawling creature.

"I think it's just one more wish for breathtaking adventure - until you remember you have this silly pride and run off again.

"No, thank you. Thank you very much."

The girl gasped. Her hands fluttered around as if searching for a straw to cling to.

"Tell me to take my life and I'll do it," she said, her voice a monotone.

It struck the woman into silence. She seemed shocked; then she laughed and stopped, in shock again.

"Don't give me that, you little drama queen," she at last exclaimed, halfheartedly chuckling some more. "What good would a dead slut do me?"

The sarcasm couldn't cover the true impact of the girl's words. Hiding her trembling hands, the woman took two steps closer and sank to her haunches, her hands pulling up the girl's face.

"Sweet darling," she said. "You really think this is just another crazy power trip for me, don't you? You really believe you're just another puppet for me.

"A puppet I make dance by pulling strings."

In the silence that followed two sets of eyes chased each other - one to catch, one to escape, but never sure whose were whose.

"I...," the woman then said, rising until she stood over the girl again. "I once... loved a girl that took her life."

Another silence fell.

"She was a girl like you... sweet and perfect. Oh god, how sweet she was."

Moisture glistened in the woman's eyes. The girl looked up, stunned by what she saw - the tears, the emotion.

I... well, uhm," the woman went on, sweeping her eyes in an irritated way. "I'm not even sure she took her life. You see, she disappeared when I was away for work. She was gone when I returned.

"She never contacted me again and all my efforts to find her failed. I still have her last message. One may read anything into it, but honestly, I don't think it gives any indication at all that she might be suicidal. - or even that she planned on leaving me."

The woman turned and walked over to a small secrétaire, an antique secretary desk with a lot of small drawers and a half-round roll-down cover. She returned with a piece of yellowing paper. She started to read.

"Oh, my Mistress,

I want you to know that I waited for you a very long time this morning. And then I waited for you all this afternoon. And, my beautiful Mistress, I want you to know that I will wait for you until all of the stars have lost their sparkle. Until all of the oceans have dried up on their sandy beds and all of the distant galaxies have disappeared...

I will wait for you as your devoted, loving slave until my lifeblood ceases to flow in my veins and I shrivel and die, and then beyond that, I will wait for you until my spirit merges with yours and I cease to exist separately from you.

I am yours, utterly and completely.

I am your adoring slave girl."

The woman's voice started out soft and hesitant; then it waxed steadier, but at the end it broke.

The girl had crawled up to her. Her small, dark hand caressed the woman's thigh and her mouth gave little pecks on the tight nylon.

"She must have loved you very much," she mumbled, feeling tears in her eyes. The woman's gaze returned from eternity.

"Yes," she said. "I loved her. She was amazing."

There was silence yet again, dotted by the old clock's ticking.

"I love you maybe more," the woman then said, touching the blushing girl's face. It embarrassed her, making her look down.

"What kind of girl was she?" she asked at last. The woman seemed to gather her thoughts.

"She was an unhappy girl, honey, very alone, taking care of her ailing mother. She had a job she disliked and never went out for pleasure.

"She was a devoted athlete, though. She ran, cycled and most of all she swam. Her body was strong, very toned and deeply tanned. She had wonderfully firm, big tits she always hid from the world in bulky sweaters.

"She loved me to join her in her swimming pool; to play with her - me the mermaid, she the dolphin, carrying me on her back. I'm a lousy swimmer."

The woman smiled at the memory before frowning again.

"She hated men, or, no - she feared them. Something horrible must have happened when she was small, but she never told me.

"She took to slave training like a fish to water. She anticipated my every wish, becoming my devoted slut. But she resisted each of my efforts to open her up to men. Each time I tried, she would run and stay away for weeks."

Sitting down, the woman opened her thighs to invite the girl between them. She kissed the girl on the top of her head, then reached for the jewel on her nipple, studying it before going on.

"Although she could never be a complete slave, I pierced her too and gave her my fleur de lys. I also branded her hip with my sign of the lily.

"She was so proud of that. So proud..."

The woman's eyes drifted off again.

"But then I had to go and force her to take a cock; I so much wanted her to be complete." She shook her head at the memory. "She fled. Then she mutilated herself by pulling the piercing out and cutting up the brand.

"Oh god, she was a mess. It took me months to regain her trust, damn stupid me..."

The woman had sunk into her memories only to discover that the girl hugged her tightly when she came out again. She cried.

"God," the woman whispered," I can be such an insensitive fool." The girl shook her head wildly.

"No," she exclaimed. "Not at all." She pressed her open lips on the woman's and they kissed deeply. When they stopped, the woman fanned herself, smiling through her tears.

"Anyway," she said. "Her nipple healed and we sculptured her ruined brand into a thorny rose. We were in paradise again and then... suddenly... inexplicably... she disappeared. It was like an eclipse of the sun.

"I never saw or heard of her again. Never."

They sat in silence once more, the woman's fingers fondling the girl's soft round tits as she leaned into her.

"I never loved a girl again like I loved her," the woman said at last, sitting up straighter. "Until I found you."

The girl gasped.

"You don't believe that, do you?" the woman asked, smiling for the first time.

"I...," the girl tried, looking away.

"When will you ever learn that someone might love you?" the woman went on. "Why do you keep punishing me for loving you?

"It's because you refuse to believe anyone could ever love you, isn't it?"

Her thumbs rubbed across the girl's wet cheeks. Then she leaned in and pressed her lips on the hers, tasting the salt of her tears. Her tongue pressed forward when the girl gasped.

She felt the small body tremble all over.

"So, you're prepared to give your life," she whispered. Then she suddenly chuckled. "That's so silly. I'd rather sell you off before you kill yourself, to at least get some money back for all the hassle.

"How does that sound to you?"

The girl stiffened in her embrace. Pulling back, her wide eyes gleamed from a riot of black hair.

"You... but you wouldn't... you can't," she hissed.

The woman smiled.

"Why on earth not?" she asked, rising, looking down on the crushed girl. "I've done it before, and you're sufficiently trained for most buyers. They love pain sluts, you know. You're branded... no, I'm sure you'd make me a fortune, no doubt of that."

The girl crawled back from between the woman's legs, turning left and right, too thoroughly stunned to know what to do or say.

"But... but," she mumbled. Then she looked straight at the woman. "But you just said you love me?!"

Her voice went up with the word 'love.' The woman's hands rose as if to beseech the girl.

"Kneel here, honey," she then said, pointing to the floor in front of her feet. "Kneel and listen."

The girl hesitated before getting closer and kneel. The woman took her hands, catching her gaze.

"I'll ignore the 'buts' for now, honey, as you're obviously upset," she said. "But I can't let what you said after that pass, can I - the casual way you claimed my love?

"It's a terrible chutzpah to do that. More so because you never, ever really committed yourself to any feelings for me."

The woman's voice rose; her eyes darkened.

"You're a selfish, greedy girl trying to bargain with my love for you. First thing to know, silly girl: never bargain with a mistress.

"And never, ever blackmail her with her love for you!"

She slapped the girl's face twice. Then she gripped her jaw, squeezing. The girl swallowed a non-existent lump.

"I, I'm sorry." The squeezing mangled her voice.

"Not good enough, girl," the woman said. "But you needn't worry; it's all academic.

"I can't sell you if I can't train you, can I? I have my pride and reputation - only perfection is good enough when I put my brand on my produce."

The girl winced at the word. The woman went on.

"But I can't train you if you don't love me. It's as simple as that - girls must love their mistress to be trainable.

"So, you have only one choice: leave me or love me."

She let go of the girl, who worked her mouth after the squeezing; she gasped like a fish out of the water, stunned by the sudden change of the woman. Then she crawled forward again, sinking her brow against a nylon-clad knee, her body shaking from an uncontrollable tremor.

The woman lay a hand on her head.

"Tell me you love me, girl," she whispered. "I know you do."

The shaking turned into sobbing and the sobbing into a heartbreaking bout of bawling. Sluices opened, rivers ran, oceans emptied.

The naked girl climbed up against the woman, smudging a priceless jacket with her tears and snot and lipstick. She slid her face over pale skin and exposed flesh until her mouth found another mouth, her tongue another tongue and her teeth another set to chatter against.

"I... I love you, Mistress."

"Too late honey. You'll have to show me."

***

A girl, used.

She heard the distant murmurs of the dinner party.

They were laced with soft string music and the sounds of crystal glasses, china plates and silver cutlery. Every now and then there would be outbursts of laughter.

All sounds were muffled, probably by the rows of coats that surrounded her. They were damp from the wet weather, their wool and fur emitting a subtle smell of swamps and rainy forests. At least that was how they smelled before her nostrils got clogged up with the musky scent of sex, provided by numerous globs of male come that covered her face, her hair and her naked chest.

It was even running down her belly and splattering her thighs.

The girl swallowed the last traces of goo that had been deposited in her mouth, mixed with her own saliva. She tried to remember the first load of the evening; its taste and slimy constitution. But all she recalled was the numb shame and humiliation that remained after the shock wore off.

The woman had taken her there in a limo, as naked as she was now.

The windows had been tinted, but nothing protected her from strangers' eyes after she pushed her out of the car and led her across a red carpet, under the awning of a well-known local hotel - and into its crowded lobby, filled with festively clad people.

It felt like a déja vue, but this time she was naked and led on a chain, fastened to a leather collar. Her nipples were adorned by sparkling clamps and rows of fragile silver chains.

Little chimes jingled at every step; her feet stood on tiptoes.

They were raised by crazily heeled ballet-shoes making it hard for her to walk at all. Mincing steps proved to be her only option - a stumbling way of walking she wasn't used to.

Silver padlocks ensured she would not be able to get out of the cruel shoes by herself. Not that such a wish ever entered her mind; nothing entered it by then. She just floated in a steaming cloud of embarrassment. Her eyes were focused on the few feet of floor in front of her; her skin shone with the sweat of subdued panic.

When they'd arrived at the wardrobe adjacent to the dining room, the woman told her to kneel and spread her thighs. She instructed her on her task that evening with a voice that was both sympathetic and to the point.

"Tonight, sweet slut," she'd said, "you will be part of this wardrobe.

"The racks and hooks behind you will service the needs of visiting guests to get rid of their coats, your mouth and body will serve their need to release themselves.

"Men will fill your mouth and throat with their hardening cocks and leave their sperm on your face and body. Women will ride your tongue and smear their juices over your face.

"If, later-on, any guest decides the toilets are too far for comfort, they might use you for that as well.

"You'll always thank them afterwards - always, you hear?"

The woman had lifted the girl's chin to make eye contact.

"As you see, little slut," she went on, never raising her voice, "you're not tied up, and you won't be. No cuffs, no ropes, no chains.

"You're free to run off at any time. Ah well...," she chuckled," let's say you're free to stumble off on your lovely, impossible heels."

Laughing some more, the woman rose to her feet.

"If you have questions," she'd said, smiling, "ask them now."

But the girl just swallowed and said nothing. So, the woman smiled again and tapped her cheek softly.

"Good," she said. "Make me proud tonight, honey cunt, and all will be forgiven."

She bent at her hips and kissed the girl deeply. Then she patted her head and turned to walk into the big dining room, leaving her on her own, her eyes staring into the scariest future she ever imagined.

Her first cock was attached to a fat, short man in a tuxedo.

He hung his damp coat behind her and grabbed her hair, growling that she should open his fly. The unwashed, sweaty cock she fished out of his pants was as short and stubby as he was.

After swallowing her disgust, she had no trouble taking it all in. He gushed his slimy goo straight down her throat in less than a minute, only to make way for a younger man, whose penis was almost twice as long.

He grabbed her head and started fucking her mouth, never minding her gagging. His come covered her face and hair in ropes and globs. They were the first to adorn her in an ever-growing number of deposits. She cleaned the cock before putting it back into the man's pants.

As instructed, she thanked him. He left a dollar note.

That was how it started and now she just knelt and waited.

Her knees ached, so did her jaws. After the first five or six men, she'd stopped looking up for their faces. She just tried to focus on their crotches through the mist of her crusted eyes.

Her hands became parts of an automaton, opening zippers and buttons, pumping cocks or rubbing clits. Her throat was slick; her voice had to struggle through a swamp of goo and saliva to murmur her thanks.

She remembered a woman slapping her face.

Men had pulled at her hair and at the cruel clamps that bit into her nipples. But most of them just used her, often having a conversation over her head. They relieved themselves, got her to clean them up and walked into the room.

Notes and coins started covering the floor around her.

After dinner started, the constant stream of guests petered out, but she wasn't often alone. Waiters, busboys and even the hotel's receptionist obviously knew about the wardrobe-slut and didn't want to let a free blowjob pass them by.

One of the men had the largest cock she ever saw.

But by then she'd become so indifferent that she just gaped wide and let the monster shut off her breathing. The shaft slid down her throat, creating a massive bulge that traveled up and down as he fucked her like a piston.

She choked and lost her consciousness, hanging off the cock like a wet coat from a peg. After it came and slid out, she fell sideways, gagging and convulsing from lack of air - vomiting the sour content of her stomach on the carpet.

But the next customer already kicked her with the tip of his brogue. She looked up through caked eyes, straight into the face of her ex. He stood wide-legged, his hands on his hips, looking down on her and stating her name.

Her mouth worked, producing gray bubbles of spent semen, but not a word.

"So, they were right," he said, "you're a whore. Why doesn't it surprise me?" He brayed a cold laugh.

She should have felt panic, shouldn't she? Her husband finding her like this - naked, kneeling, frosted with the goo of a dozen men, more... All her secrets shattered; all her bridges burnt...

Yes, she should, but she didn't.

Without a word, she reached for his fly, pulling down the zipper and taking out his sweet, well-known cock. The cock she'd missed so much; the cock she'd spent sleepless nights over.

It was hard as velvet-clad iron, she felt, and its head throbbed on the tip of her tongue.

A wave of insane joy overwhelmed her, as his hands cupped her head, pulling her mouth down his cock until her nose touched the teeth of his zipper.

She grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled him even further, before starting a blinding skull-fuck, never minding her lack of breath or the gushing saliva foaming around his shaft.