Angel, Demons Pt. 07

"Just ask her, honey cunt," she said, handing it over.

The girl turned her face and upper body to the blonde again. She presented the crop on open palms, lifting it up to her. It looked ancient and was made of braided black leather, worn with use.

"Please punish me," she said, never leaving the blonde's eyes with hers. "I betrayed Mistress with my love for you. I also betrayed you, so please be the instrument of my punishment."

She pushed out her chest.

"Hurt my tits, please," she went on. "Hurt them good and well, so I'll always remember."

The blonde's mind shut down, utterly stunned. She sat back, shying away from the girl. Her face was a flushed crimson.

"Oh, my god," she gasped. "Never. God, never!"

She pushed herself out of the chair and ran towards the back of the plane. Her paralyzed thoughts were reactivated, rolling around in chaos.

"Crazy!" she cried out, her hands to her mouth. "You are both crazy. I want out! Turn back and let me out!"

The woman rose and walked towards her, reaching out.

"Please, honey," she said. "Forgive me for dragging you into this. But you have to know I love this girl and she needs this."

Her hands touched the blonde, who moved them away.

"Don't touch me," she gasped. But she was in a corner and the woman kept reaching.

"No," she said, struggling at first, but the woman embraced her. "This is all so..." she mumbled, trying to find a useful phrase, but failing.

"It is," the woman agreed, leading her back to their seats. She smiled reassuringly to the redhead that had come out of her tiny sanctuary, no doubt alarmed by the blonde's shouting.

"A glass of water will do," she said, helping the blonde sit down.

"You see," she went on, after the redhead brought the glass, "when my girl wants someone, I won't deny her the pleasure. I want her to have you - but she needs to learn that it can only be with my permission, and on my conditions.

"I trained her to be the perfect lover and for this little holiday she is my gift to you. You only have to accept her and she'll be yours until I decide otherwise."

The blonde's grey eyes widened; she didn't know where to look.

"This is..." she said. "I never..."

Then she looked down on the dark, rich waves of the girl's hair. She felt soft tits press into her legs, tiny hands caressing her thighs - she noticed the weight of the girl's head on her knees.

Brown eyes held hers steadily; a smile made puffy lips curl. It caused a tight ball of heat to dissolve in her belly, relaxing her muscles one by one.

She sighed, closing her eyes.

"See it as a holiday, darling," the woman said from what seemed a misty distance. "Just a short, wonderful, love-soaked holiday."

***

A girl, devoted.

The hammock hardly yielded to the petite girl's weight - it slowly swayed when she sat down next to the blonde.

The sweet scent of her tanning oil mixed with the ocean's tang; the heat of her body permeated the blonde's thigh and arm where they touched. A shadow blotted out the sun's glare as soft, soft lips touched hers.

The kiss was long and excruciatingly tender.

As always, during these few incredible days, the girl's kissing yanked the bottom from under the blonde's existence. The weak, yielding lips gave her a sensation of sinking into velvet nothingness. The crawling tongue melted her spine... it robbed her of her breath, amazing her with the vast difference from the girl she'd first met in New York.

It was the way she moved - totally content, like a relaxed animal. It was the way her big brown eyes looked at the world - trusting, carefree, like a child's.

When they'd first met, she'd been a confident businesswoman.

She'd been her own creature, as she'd said, having goals in life and ambitions. But all she saw now was a toy; happy and satisfied, but nonetheless the puppet of a woman she called Mistress - crawling naked on a leash, pierced and branded.

It should have freaked her out, but it didn't. It just was too... natural for that; too... loving.

And it very much stimulated her sexual reflexes.

The blonde had never been into sex more daring than the occasional blowjob or missionary fucking when she still did boyfriends, back at college.

With women, the most outrageous thing she ever did was being fucked with a strap-on dildo while drunk. Otherwise, it had just been licking, sucking, and fingering.

It was why the girl's out-of-control session at her New York apartment had alarmed her so much.

A big part of her reason to change to lesbian love had been her aversion of aggressive sex; she needed it soft and sweet and cuddly. Love amongst women never had this hidden, violent edge she sensed between this girl and her woman - the always lingering threat and the off-handed humiliation.

She'd tried to talk about it with the girl, the first evening they'd spent under the glorious starry sky of this tiny island.

They'd been lying on the platform of the wooden beach-house, relaxing after another of these incredible kissing sessions. It had languorously developed into the blonde being eaten until one mind-blowing climax chased another, closely following yet another one she just came down from.

Feeling the breeze chilling her sweaty body she asked:

"Why do you do this, honey?"

The girl lifted her face off the blonde's belly. She looked confused.

"Didn't you like it?" she asked. The blonde grabbed her face.

"Oh no!" she said. "I loved it! You are absolutely incredible. But why let this woman command you; why jump at her every wish?"

The girl laid her face on the blonde's naked belly again, her cheek landing on drops of saliva.

"I...," she then said, making the syllable vibrate into the belly button, "I honestly don't know."

She once more raised her face, searching for her lover's eyes. "I guess it is too big a question." She smiled weakly. "You see, it's like asking me why I breathe."

The blonde shivered. She didn't know what caused the chill: the answer or the breeze.

"Let me get you a blanket," the girl said, crawling to her feet.

Moments later they shared the blanket, sitting with their backs against the house.

"Does she hypnotize you?" the blonde asked. The girl chuckled.

"Maybe... but I don't think so," she said. "Nothing magical. It is just who I am. She knew that, I guess.

"She's always known."

"Do you love her?" the blonde asked.

"How could I not?" the girl said.

***

A girl, lent out.

The blonde's questions took the girl back to the moment she was born.

It was the moment her best, life-long friend had left her, and her tears had drenched the expensive silk on the woman's shoulder - seemingly a lifetime ago.

The tears had proved to be a cleansing tide, flushing out her last resistance. In the end, it threw her onto a far-away beach where she was left lying naked under a baby-blue sky. A virgin sun kissed her newborn skin; wavelets played with the strands of her long, dark hair. Yesterday's raging storm was forgotten - as was her name, her past, her very identity.

Just the muted thunder of eternal surf remained.

Through time the island she'd once visited, had become an almost forgotten dream to her. Now it returned, changing from bittersweet memory into paradise regained.

Things had stopped mattering to the girl.

Her identity was just another of the many items that had ended being of importance to her - like the names and the faces of people she might have known; friends she'd had, houses she'd lived in, work she'd done.

She didn't miss them; there was no need for memories - especially since one or two good ones always invited multitudes of nightmares: loneliness, drunken bouts and confusion.

No confusion now; no guilt or shame; no wine-induced regret.

In the end, it had all been easy. Once she let go of her house and her friend, the clouds evaporated and everything became clear - who she was, whom she belonged to, what her duties were.

The metal cage became her calm eye of the storm; a center of safety she shared with her gray-pelted companion - the master whose devoted bitch she loved to be.

He never asked questions; he never caused dilemmas - he just was there, protecting her. She could talk to him and he'd listen; she could cuddle with him. He never let her down.

At long last her days became sweetly predictable.

There were no crippling sways of emotion anymore; no fear of demons or disrupting events that forced her to make wrong decisions - no choices, no tiring dilemmas. Her days rolled on in pleasant repetition, with chores that were no chores.

She awoke around six each morning, leaving her cage to take the first of two cleansing enemas. Then she showered, washing her hair and getting her body free of regrown stubble.

Finally, she took her second enema, brushed her teeth and hair, made up her eyes and coated her lips before oiling every square inch of her body. Only then was she ready to make breakfast for Master and Mistress - on the days she was in - taking a muffin and a mug of tea for herself and returning to her cage - where she knelt, waiting for her first customer.

The endless pageant of paying visitors was another routine that became self-evident.

With the pile of money on the table grew a sense of meek pride she had never felt before. This was something she could do without thinking or worrying, without fear of failing.

She kept improving her skills. Every cock was a challenge as if it were her first one; no woman left her cage unsatisfied. And there always was Master's calm presence to make her feel safe; and the rare but unforgettable nights with Mistress.

Living the life of a slave felt natural from the very start.

It was like coming home to a reassuringly one-dimensional existence of quietude. It was balm on her soul after leaving an increasingly incomprehensible outside world - a life that had been a mixture of stress, demands and confusion.

There was only one simple duty left - to please Mistress; and that wasn't a duty, it was a pleasure.

How removed from her former stressful life she'd become, she discovered when the outside world touched her one more time.

It was the day the woman took her to a police station.

She'd dressed her in a simple, flowery dress. It felt uncomfortable after so many weeks of nudity - as did the cotton bra, the panties and the low-heeled pumps.

She felt vulnerable without her collar.

The woman informed her about the questions that would be asked - she should answer them truthfully.

So, she told the two officers - a man and a woman - about her new life. They seemed shocked under their professional masks, but in the end, all they wanted to know was if she was doing all this out of her own free will.

She guessed they were satisfied with her answers. She signed papers with her strange and almost forgotten name, and she never heard from them again.

The female doctor who examined her later that same day had probed her with fingers and questions. She'd also taken a few tubes of blood. A male doctor riddled her with yet another barrage of questions he'd read from a list. She'd answered them all and when he was done she'd asked him if he wanted a blowjob.

He'd ushered her out of his office, his face flushed and his hands shaking.

***

A girl, rich.

The cage had become her new home.

It protected her from her demons and had Master to make her feel save - to cuddle up with, to whisper to.

The only times she wasn't close to the hound was when she serviced her guests, although he never left the room. The routine fed her addiction; there was hardly a morning or an afternoon she was without cock or cunt.

But whenever she was without, she got restless, pacing her cage like an animal at the zoo.

More often than not, she failed to have orgasms anymore from being fucked. She usually came from fingering her clit while giving head, or from being eaten. She even came spontaneously from having her tits tortured or her ass whipped.

But a cock up her cunt or her ass seldom pushed her over the edge anymore.

It didn't matter; having sex always left her satisfied, whether she came or didn't come. Just offering herself seemed enough now. The pleasure of opening-up to be used became reason and reward in itself.

She noticed how her needs shifted, but she'd stopped caring about things like that; things were as Mistress wanted them, weren't they? Knowing that made her feel warm and satisfied.

Getting compliments from Mistress aroused her more than cocks up her cunt. She just was who she was supposed to be now.

She just was - happy?

The pile of money on the small end table had grown and grown, embellished by the checks and cash from her sold property.

By now she'd lost the connection between the many visitors and the growth of the heap of dollar bills; she just knew it was the tangible proof of doing the woman's bidding.

The thought made her cunt tingle.

The woman never took away any of the money. One evening, when she held the girl in her lap, softly rocking her, she pointed at the pile that had spilled over from the table onto the floor.

"See how much you earned, sweet whore?" she'd asked. "I bet it is over four hundred thousand dollars."

The girl had raised her head but didn't respond.

She just snuggled deeper into the woman's body, inhaling her scent. The woman stroked her back and thighs. It made her shiver; her world was perfect.

"You remember our island, pretty slut?" her Mistress went on. "I bet you do." A soft moaning rose from where her face pressed itself into the pale tits of her mistress.

"We'll go there again, you know?" the woman said. "We'll go to our island soon, you and I. And it's the money you made by fucking all those cocks and licking all those cunts, that will help us get there.

"Aren't you proud?"

The girl raised her head. It felt hot and must have looked messy. She took her thumb out of her mouth.

"Will Master go too?" she asked. There was a childish lilt in her voice.

"Oh, but of course, honey," the woman said, tightening their hug. "You go nowhere without your prince." She chuckled at the qualification.

"My prince," the girl whispered.

Her confrontation with the blonde New York woman in the plane should have been a shock, and at first it was.

It dragged up sinful memories of a proud and independent existence. They were reminders of her being this stubborn girl who still believed she had a right to the swirling butterflies of infatuation.

On seeing the blonde again, those returning memories were strong enough to hit her with shame and humiliation.

Curiously enough, though, they felt like someone else's shame, someone long forgotten - dead, maybe? But having those treacherous feelings at all was enough to make her cringe under Mistress's eyes. The woman always knew her thoughts. So, she hid behind her skirt, holding on to the safe warmth of her thighs.

She inhaled her sweet perfume and prayed it would all be over soon.

The influx of long-forgotten shame was still enough, though, to make her flee into silly non-excuses when Mistress forced her to confess how she'd betrayed her with the blonde.

The slap in her face upset the blonde, she saw.

She seemed shocked by the physical violence - a shock that changed to wide-eyed amazement. Or was it disgust? Maybe not, because the blonde became all intrigued and curious when she showed her the piercing in her nipple and the brand on her cheek.

The shock returned in full, though, when she offered her Master Crop and begged her to punish her tits with it. It took Mistress a lot of effort to calm the woman down. Then she did something that made the girl want to dig herself a way out through the floor of the plane.

She gave her to the blonde to be used however she desired during their stay on the island.

***

A blonde, acclimatized.

Thinking back at how they'd traveled from the main island to their much smaller destination, the blonde felt the salty wind tugging at her hair again, whipping it around her face.

She'd gathered it into a bun.

The sea was choppy, but that didn't impress the dark boy at the helm. Sinewy muscles played under his threadbare tank top shirt as he held the wheel with two fingers.

The main island sank below the edge of the ocean, their destination not yet in sight.

The entire world seemed immerged in water under an empty sky. Its expanse tugged at her city-dweller's heart, stretching it to encompass an ever-fleeing horizon.

My god, she'd thought, hold me down or I'll fly away.

After landing on the airport of the main island, the woman had informed them that it would be about an hour's trip to their island in a fast boat. She'd already booked it, but she didn't go with them.

She said she had business on the main island where they would rejoin her a few days later. The dark, handsome boy took the two of them and their luggage to the boat and to their tiny destination.

The scary hound never left the girl's side.

On the island, the wooden beach house was the only building and they would be its only inhabitants. It stood in an outcropping of palm trees and shrubbery at its elevated center, where the house was built on a platform. It rested on piles, driven into white sands that stretched in every direction until stopped by the sea.

A foamy necklace of surf surrounded the island where the ocean collapsed on a ring of coral.

After delivering their baggage, the boy returned to his boat. The girl followed him. She touched his arm to make him stop; then she talked to him. He nodded after a nervous glance in the blonde's direction.

To her astonishment, the girl knelt in front of him and fished his young cock from his khaki shorts. She studied it on the palms of her hands; then she took it in her mouth and sucked it to completion.

After cleaning the cock with her tongue, she put it back, zipping up his fly and rising to her feet to kiss him. She stood on tiptoes, her arms around his neck - bare tits pushing into his chest.

When the boy roared the boat to life and left the island, she stood on the wet sands, waving, smiling.

"Why did you do that?" the blonde had asked.

"Mistress told me," she said, picking up her flip-flops and walking to the house.

The house's pantry was stacked with everything they might need. There also was gas, electricity and fresh water.

The place was the ultimate island paradise - quiet and isolated. It quickly reduced the blonde's big city stress, as did the Arab girl's sweet attentions.

Within hours, happiness was a commodity; within a day the blonde couldn't imagine having arrived only the day before.

***

A blonde, curious.

"How did you meet her?"

"Long story."

They floated on the clear water, their airbeds rocked gently by the wavelets.

"Tell me anyway?"

Silence.

"What about your graphics business?"

"Gone."

"Gone?"

"House too; car, everything."

The blonde gasped.

"You sold everything to be with... to be..?"

The girl lifted her face off the pink plastic; the sun's reflections played on her face. She looked at the blonde, but her eyes weren't focused.

"Not important," she then said. Turning her head the other way, she showed the blonde her backside.

"Sorry if I'm nosey," the blonde woman resumed after a while. The girl turned her face back.

"Don't be sorry for me; no need," she said. Then she smiled. "Could I get you anything? Drink, food? Me?"

She slid off her bed, bobbing in the water. Her black hair sparkled as she gathered it with her hands; her skin shone like polished wood.