Angel, Demons Pt. 07

A blonde, invited.

The blonde sat under a huge umbrella, swaying lazily in her hammock. Her skin glowed from hours of tanning. Now she preferred the coolness of shadow, sipping a drink while listening to mellow jazz on her iPod.

She idly scanned a magazine.

Looking up, her eyes caressed the outlines of a body she knew well by now. It lay stretched out where sand and water met. Her gaze traced the shining roundness of a hip, the softness of a belly. She felt her clit tingle from recent licking; her body sang with the warm memories of satisfaction - and all the while her mind shuddered from the sheer, unspeakable madness of it all.

As she watched, a gray shadow sped by the dozing girl, huge paws causing fountains of droplets to rain on her.

The girl jumped up with a cry, starting after the dog, her dark hair streaming behind. She scooped hands full of water on his dashing body, her voice competing with the booming surf until both she and the beast disappeared in the rolling waves.

The blonde put away the magazine and sipped from the white wine the girl had brought her.

The balmy breeze played with the sarong she'd wrapped around her naked body. It felt so good to be away from dreary New York and find this place where the wind was as warm as the blood in her veins. She smiled, looking over to where the girl and her dog had returned from the waves. She seemed small beside him, her deeply tanned arm around the dog's neck as they plodded through the water.

"Get over here," the blonde cried out, adding the girl's forbidden name. She waved and patted the free space in her roomy hammock. "Please?"

The girl came out of the glaring sun, its rays painting a halo around her silhouette. She ran - like a child, the blonde thought, an innocent child - plunging carelessly through the sparkling surface. Her feet kicked up the water, her voice adding a melody to the rhythm of the ocean's waves - as did her bouncing titties.

***

The blonde recalled how they first met, back in New York at her Manhattan office.

It had been a rainy day; the kind that made her thoughts slip into gloomy depression. But seeing the girl changed that. She was infectiously sweet, moving her petite body with sensuous ease. She remembered the sway of her hair... how her chocolate eyes looked up from under deep black eyebrows, hiding a naughty sparkle... her generous lips smiling, pouting...

It was hard not to like the girl.

She oozed a shy kind of sexuality that went straight to the blonde's lesbian heart - and deeper. The meeting had been mercifully short, the following lunch long and sweet, stretching into a careless afternoon. She'd taken her to a live concert. The weather had improved enough for a picnic under the trees.

Then, after returning to her apartment, they'd had sex.

First, it had been the tentative making out of people meeting for the first time. But soon that changed. As she licked the girl's pussy, sucking on her clit, she went crazy, demanding to be treated harder and rougher. She begged her to torture her nipples, pulling at the piercing in her left breast. And when her climax neared, the girl's nails raked her skin, clawing, scratching until she arched into a thunderous orgasm.

The girl had rolled aside, close to unconsciousness.

It was then that the blonde saw her backside, and the bluish marbling of the perfect olive skin on her ass cheeks and thighs. She traced it with a fingernail, making the girl shiver where she touched.

After they regained their breath, she'd asked her about the piercing and the girl made it sound like a madness from the past, at once diminishing its importance when she noticed the alarm on the blonde's face.

The blonde hadn't dared asking about the bluish traces after that.

The girl flew back home the next morning, leaving her puzzled behind. The blonde wasn't an innocent by far, but the petite girl's body and stories had hinted at a perverse obscenity she wasn't ready for; it kept lingering in her mind. Something was off - not enough to be called sick, maybe, but way too much for the vanilla tastes of this particular New York lesbian.

There was a new meeting scheduled.

The blonde decided to be nice, but to return to a more businesslike relation. She remembered the pain in the girl's eyes when she turned her down - softly, sweetly. The girl had left right after their second meeting; there'd been no lunch, no getting together.

It would be untrue to suppose she'd forgotten the girl, but it was surely a surprise when, weeks later, she walked into her office, unannounced. The memory was as painful as the occasion had been.

Then she remembered meeting the pale, black-haired woman, and her first impressions when she'd walked into the small Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village where they'd agreed to meet.

Stunning is such a common phrase, yet at times it's very apt.

This woman was stunning in a calmly provocative way. 'High-end Gothic' might get close to describing her - very high-end. Her hair was black, as was her outfit, and her skin was almost translucent. She was tall and dressed in a way that was beyond fashionable. Her jacket and skirt were of the business variety, but too tight and too liberally cut to be businesslike - as were her laced, high-heeled vintage boots.

The woman moved gracefully towards her table.

Her hand was warm and strong, her smile spontaneous, but her green eyes stayed intensely watchful, brooding even. Then there was the voice - low and hoarse. It lilted with a European accent she could not place; but it went straight to a nerve that made the small hairs on her forearms rise.

They'd ordered salads and talked.

First about the business proposition the woman had called her about 'while she was in New York anyway'; then about more and more personal things while the Chardonnay flowed.

The soft, hoarse voice spun a web around the two of them; a gauze tent of intimacy. The green eyes became harder and harder to escape from. It struck the blonde how much the woman and she seemed to have in common, and how easy it was to just sit there and talk.

They'd ended up at the blonde's apartment, having sex.

It was wonderful and very skilled sex; and it had been only while they rested in a foam-filled tub that the woman mentioned the girl. She did it in a mix of other names and in a totally natural way.

It surprised them both to find out the blonde knew her as well.

By now she'd found out it had all been a set up, but back then she'd had no suspicion. She admitted having been taken in by the 'petite bombshell.' She and the girl had had a lovely time, she said, hitting town, visiting a concert and making love. But she'd suspected 'something off' with the girl, something boding trouble - a red flag waving.

The woman had chuckled at the red flag warning. "Yes," she'd admitted, "the girl is special" - before dropping the subject and getting back to things more physical.

To make a long and delicious story shorter - the woman left the next morning promising to keep in touch. She kept calling and made one more visit while she was in New York again.

So, when she called, almost half a year later, to invite the blonde for a stay at a tropical island 'with friends,' she'd looked out of her window into the dripping wet New York streets and heartily accepted the invitation.

***

A blonde, gobsmacked.

The chartered jet stood parked near a hangar.

Looking down from a cabin window, the blonde watched a limousine drive up until it almost touched the roll-on stairs. A chauffeur got out, the tails of his coat flapping in the wind. He walked over to the left passenger door, opening it for a pale woman dressed entirely in black.

While she waited on the tarmac, holding her coat closed with both hands, the driver walked to the back of the car and opened its trunk. From it jumped a Great Dane, pulling a petite naked girl along. The blonde peered into the falling darkness, trying to make out who the girl was and why she was naked.

The dog's leash, she saw, was connected to a collar around the girl's neck.

It lost its tautness after she scrambled out of the car as well and took her place next to the dog - pushing her shivering body into his for warmth.

He licked her face, almost dwarfing her in comparison.

The woman in black turned and walked up the stairs, confidently ignoring the precarious height of her heels and the tightness of her skirt. She never looked back to see if the creature and its chained companion would follow.

Inside the plane, the blonde saw how a smiling young pilot waited at the entrance to welcome the new arrivals. He was immaculately clad, his cap tucked under his arm.

He welcomed the woman in black with a nod. "Always honored to have you on board, Ma'am."

The woman chuckled as she whisked away an invisible speck of dust on his chest. Then she brushed her cheek against his in a faux kiss, breathing a few words in his ear.

They made the young man blush and the woman grin.

She turned half a circle on her heels, clearing the way for her entourage to enter.

"Let me introduce you to my Great Dane, darling," she said, cupping the brute's skull with her hand, scratching behind his ear. "And his little bitch, of course."

The girl kept the dog between herself and the young man, a finger in her mouth like a shy schoolgirl. She seemed to look down bashfully, a blush on her cheeks. The blonde suddenly saw who she was and it made her heart miss a beat.

Then she was even more amazed at the woman's next words.

"Mon capitain," she said, "I bet the little slut would love to fly with you, even before we take off."

She chuckled; then she nodded as her eyes moved from the girl to the man and back. The girl at once sank to her knees in front of the pilot, busy fingers unzipping his fly. The young man's cap dropped to the floor as his hands closed around her head. Soon her very wet activities filled the air as his considerable member started filling her.

The woman chuckled again, looking on.

"Mmmm," she whispered, leaning towards the girl's ear. "Remember, honey cunt - this is why they call it a cockpit."

She undid the chain from the girl's collar and walked into the cabin, leading the dog beside her.

"Ma chère!" she cried out, greeting the blonde woman seated there. The blonde smiled and mumbled a response, but her eyes were captured by what happened behind the woman.

She'd bet her life that the girl was a pure lesbian. She'd told her so, and now she swallowed this cock like a starved whore. She sat straight and craned her neck to see the girl's silhouette at the entrance, her mouth sliding up and down the erected cock of the standing man.

"Is she..?" she asked, pointing her finger. "She is, isn't she?"

The woman let go of the dog and walked up to the blonde. She guided the woman's face away from where she was looking and pressed her lips on hers.

"Welcome, darling; so great you could make it," she said, slightly out of breath. "And yes, I guess she is and yet, she isn't."

The blonde's eyebrows rose at that.

"She is the girl, isn't she? The girl I, eh, worked with in New York," she said, puzzled.

They sat down, both having a free view of the two lovers. The girl's head bobbed faster, her fingers working furiously between her own legs. Judging by the way the man groaned and arched his back he was close to coming.

"Yes, she used to be the girl you know," the woman said. "But right now, she isn't called that anymore. Actually, she has no name at all. She doesn't need one and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't use it.

"You may call her slut or bitch or even whore; or you may call her honey cunt or sweet tits as I often do. She's a slave by any name and she'll be my property, soon.

"Very soon."

The man now fucked the girl's face with deep, merciless strokes, holding her head with both hands. She gagged and spluttered, producing generous amounts of saliva that ran down his balls and her chest.

He suddenly stopped, his cock all the way down the girl's throat.

Crying out, he squirted his seed straight into her stomach. The two women watched, one openly enraptured by the primal violence done to the girl - the other obviously embarrassed, an embarrassment that grew when she noticed she was holding the woman's hand.

"I..," the blonde said in a breathless voice, retracting her hand. "I thought she was a lesbian. She said she was." The woman smiled.

"Yes, I can see how she'd say that," she answered. "But she never really was, you know. She craves cock, always has, even if she loves cunts.

"But by now that is all immaterial."

At the entrance the girl was cleaning the pilot's cock with her tongue before putting it back and closing his fly. Her lips shaped an inaudible 'thank you.'

"Slaves are slaves, honey," the woman said, patting the blonde's hand. "She fucks whatever I tell her to, in whatever hole desired."

The nameless girl at the entrance rose to her feet. She looked around before walking hesitantly into the cabin. After a few steps she froze, her eyes fixed on the blonde.

Her lips shaped the syllables of her name, but there was no sound.

The blonde did get her name out, with a breathless voice.

The girl's eyes flitted from the blonde to the woman and back, not knowing what to do or say. A fierce blush covered her chest and throat, creeping into her face.

"Here, honey cunt," the woman said, patting her thigh. "At my feet." The girl obeyed at once, hiding her embarrassment behind her skirt, both arms wrapped around the legs.

The woman turned towards the blonde again, starting to say something, but they were interrupted by the tinny voice of the pilot, telling them he'd be taking off.

He sounded upbeat and very confident.

Seconds later a red-headed stewardess came from the pantry, advising them to use their belts. She carefully avoided the huge dog that lay stretched out in the aisle; she also did her best to ignore the girl's nakedness. She was awfully young looking, the blonde thought, following the sway of the girl's ass when she walked back.

A tug indicated that the plane had started rolling; soon they were in the air.

The woman picked up where they'd been interrupted, telling the girl to kneel at her feet again. She at once resumed caressing the thick, lovely mane, as she directed her attention to the blonde once more.

"The slut had this enormous crush on you, honey; you must have noticed?

"She told me she was totally smitten with you."

There was some irony in the woman's voice.

Turning to the girl at her feet, she said: "What was it you said again, honey, about her? Ah yes: 'She is amazing,' you said. 'I have never felt this way before - about anyone, ever.'

"Wasn't that how you put it?"

The blonde saw how the girl pushed her hot face into the woman's skirt, almost digging into it, like an embarrassed child.

The woman grinned, her fingers now clawing into the hair, massaging the skull. "'About anyone, ever,' you said," she repeated, mockingly tasting each word. Then she turned to the blonde.

"Did you know that, honey?"

The blonde was obviously abashed. Her head shook 'no.' "No, I didn't," she whispered, amazed at how elaborately she'd been set up by this woman.

"Thought so," the woman said. "Ah, the infantile crushes of these confused little creatures - eternal teenagers, always dreaming of ways to flee the inevitable."

She clacked her tongue and sighed a mocking sigh. "Anyway, as I said, it's all immaterial now, isn't it, honey?"

The girl hid even deeper, never responding.

"Honey, are you there? Please answer," the woman insisted, pulling the girl into the open by her hair. Her face was a mess, the blonde saw; her eyes were all over the place. She stuttered.

The woman smiled, nodding encouragingly.

"I... I was a silly girl; just silly," the girl said at last, never looking either of the women in the eye.

The woman slapped her face, still holding her by the hair. It shocked the blonde. She rose halfway from her chair, waving her hands in the air.

"Wow," she said. "Wow, you can't... you just..."

The woman turned to her. Then she turned back to the girl, who wore a pink handprint on her already flushed face.

"Tell her, bitch," the woman said.

"No," the girl whispered, addressing the upset blonde. "Mistress is right to slap me; my answer wasn't honest. I deserve her scorn."

The words silenced the blonde. Her eyes went wide and her mouth sagged open, as she sat down again - speechless at the utterly alien world that opened in front of her.

She was appalled, but her thoughts were a jumble. A slow, icy finger crept up her spine. She knew she ought to be outraged - she'd been used by the woman as well as by the girl; maybe not outright lied to, but played nevertheless.

The girl belonged to the woman; the piercing wasn't a game; the bluish marbling had been caused by real flogging. But if the woman knew the girl cheated on her, why did she invite her lover for a holiday in the sun?

Why be so generous?

The black-haired girl now knelt before the blonde guest, looking up. Her voice was clear, with a childlike openness.

"I cheated on her with you," she said. "I betrayed her trust, because I refused to take her love seriously. I thought I knew myself. I thought I could be my own person, escaping her by making my own choices.

"I thought I could be this proud lesbian falling in love with whomever I fancied."

She closed her eyes and fell silent. Then she reopened them.

"It is hard for me to understand now how I could think that way and hurt her like that. I didn't just cheat, I also had to tell her.

"I phoned her, telling her I found you and loved you. I told her that you came first and she came second, although I had been pledging my love for her, over and over.

"I showed her that her love meant nothing to me."

She turned her face to the woman. There were no tears; her face was open, serene.

"How wrong I was," she whispered.

"I betrayed you, Mistress," she went on after a pause, turning her calm face to the woman. "You were right of course, I was horrible. Only after you sent me away, I understood.

"But still I fought you."

She sat back on her knees, pushing out her chest. Her hand found the dangling lily; she displayed it on her open palm. The blonde saw how it sparkled against the tanned skin.

"I lied to you about this," the girl went on. "And I took it off before I visited you that last time.

"It is the jewel that shows I am hers. It wasn't a drunken joke. She pierced my nipple and gave it to me as a sign of our bond.

"I broke it because I was ashamed of showing it to you again..."

Her clear voice lost its volume as her attention dwelt on the jewel. "I was afraid you might dump me because of it."

"It's beautiful," the blonde whispered.

"It is," the girl agreed.

Then she rose and turned her back to the blonde, lifting one tanned hip to show her the lily-brand. Looking down over her own shoulder she took the blonde's hand and traced her finger over the relief.

"Mistress also branded me."

The blonde shook her hand free as if stung. She sat back, away from the girl who looked up, puzzled by the reaction.

"Don't you think it's amazing?" she asked. The blonde just sat wide-eyed and speechless.

"But it is much more than amazing," the girl went on. "It is who I am."

She once more sank to her knees. Then she turned to the black-haired woman again, the one she called mistress, reaching up and bringing her mouth to the woman's ear. She whispered into it.

The words surprised the woman; then she smiled and produced a short black riding crop from her leather pouch.