Angel, Demons Pt. 07

The blonde maneuvered so her face was close to the girl.

"Why won't you tell?" she asked. The brown eyes focused.

"No need," the girl said. "Mistress gave me to you for pleasure, not for the story of my life - or what used to be my life."

She turned and dragged the pink bed to the shore. The wet hair slithered down her back like a fat, black snake.

***

"So, you must pleasure me?"

Lunch had been delicious. The girl had fixed a salade niçoise with home-baked focaccia, fresh fruit and chilled pinot gris. They sat on the platform, a huge white sail blotting out the sun. It flapped in the breeze, making the poles creak like the masts of an ancient ship.

The girl sat at the blonde's feet, caressing the dog; he panted from the heat. She looked up and nodded.

"You know I have to," she said.

"That sounds like a chore," the blonde remarked, chuckling.

"No chore," the girl answered. "No nothing. It is just what I do, who I am. It pleases me to please Mistress - and this is her pleasure."

The blonde mused in silence, her hand on the girl's hair. Then a thought occurred to her.

"She is testing you," she said, sitting straight. "She uses me to test you!"

The girl just shrugged.

"Oh, my god!" the blonde exclaimed.

***

A blonde, shocked.

She was in bed, windows open.

There were sounds of the surf and the nightly creatures - a soft breathing too of the girl on the floor beside the bed. The blonde had repeatedly begged her to sleep with her on the bed, but she couldn't be seduced. Every night after making love, she'd slid off the bed, curled up on the thin mat and gone to sleep.

The blonde couldn't sleep.

She'd slept like a log for two nights; the first one from sheer orgasm-induced exhaustion, she guessd; the second night from spending all day in the sun and the sea... and from sheer orgasm-induced exhaustion.

Today had not been different, but her epiphany after lunch distracted her.

A test; the woman used her as a guinea pig to test the girl's loyalty. She ought to be enraged, but she wasn't - she was puzzled. Paying for two flights and visits to New York, including costly lunches and drinks; a private jet; a week on this island - all those expenses for just a test?

She also had a hard time believing the girl.

The girl had told her how she'd fallen for her when they first met - it had been a full-blown crush and not from a wide-eyed teenager either; the girl had been in love with her. Why wouldn't she still be? Why suddenly give these robot-like responses: 'It pleases me when it pleases Mistress?'

Bull.

When she woke up next, she saw a pale-yellow streak along the horizon. She'd obviously fallen asleep at last.

The mat on the floor was empty.

Like the days before, the girl must have quietly crept out to do her morning-chores. In about an hour she would wake her with a kiss on her brow - sweet and soft. Then there would be fresh orange juice and a piece of pineapple; Greek yoghurt with strawberries and honey; toasted bread and jam and tea.

And while she ate, the girl would kneel at her feet, massaging them - the insteps, the arches and up to the ankles and calves. She would smile and shake her head 'no' whenever the blonde would want to share some of her breakfast.

She'd already eaten, she'd say.

Then she would bow her head and reach for the blonde's feet, licking between her toes, sucking on them like baby-cocks.

A test?

She had searched the house for cameras and microphones. Of course, she'd found nothing.

She threw back the sheet and slid off the bed, wriggling her toes into her slippers. The morning air was chilly, so she donned her cotton robe before opening the louvre doors that gave out on the terrace.

She tried to be as quiet as she could.

The sun was up, giving the clear skies a pale pinkish hue. High winds rustled in the palm leaves. She heard seabirds cry - gulls, maybe. And then she saw it.

"Oh god, no," she gasped, inadvertently pulling her robe tighter.

She looked on for minutes, paralyzed by the shock, the new sun painting stripes of light on her face. The birdlike cries rose higher and higher, until they broke off into breathless silence.

Finally, utterly stunned, the blonde withdrew from the door's gap. She felt dizzy; her heart pounded against her ribcage.

And the hand she withdrew from her crotch dripped with juices.

***

A slave, explained.

"Honey, this tea is delicious. Thank you!"

All morning the blonde had tried to be her normal self around the girl. She'd eaten her breakfast as usual. Then they'd gone swimming and just lying lazily in the sun until it got too hot.

Everything had been like yesterday and yet everything was different. The girl had run with the dog just like before, but in the eyes of the blonde all innocence had gone.

Now it was afternoon and they sat under the palm trees, in the shadow of the house, drinking freshly steeped mint tea.

Ever since the shocking sight in the early morning, the blonde had studied the girl. It was hard not to see the humiliating images again and again. They threw up a wall between her and the girl, causing disgust and irritation. Could she ever make love to this girl again?

Could she ever kiss her pussy again?

There was also indignation. She felt dissed by the girl, even if she was as attentive and sweet as ever. She felt as if the girl secretly disregarded her; even mocked her. She suspected being excluded and that hit her with a surprisingly intense jealousy.

It also fed into long forgotten insecurities, irritating her no end.

"Thank you!" she repeated louder, leaning into the girl. Again, the girl ignored the 'thank you,' just like she'd ignored every token of gratitude since they'd arrived.

It had confused her; now it offended her.

"I thanked you, girl. Did you hear?" she said once again, trying not to have an edge to her voice.

"No need," the girl at last said, smiling. It was a phrase she used entirely too often, the blonde thought. She tried to fathom the girl's annoying indifference.

"Maybe there is no need," she said. "But it would please me if you appreciated my gratitude, honey."

The girl looked up. A hint of confusion entered her gaze. Her hands rose and her fingers fidgeted with the piercing in her nipple. She often did that, the blonde thought, when she seemed uncertain.

"Don't I please you?" the girl whispered, blushing. The blonde reached for her, cupping her shoulders.

"Oh, you do, honey!" she exclaimed. "You please me very much. But why can't we talk? Like friends?

"I thought we were friends?"

The girl's eyes fell. She mumbled something. Then she looked up, pain in her eyes.

"This is too hard," she said. "You don't understand. I am not here for you; I am here to obey an order Mistress gave me.

"I'm not sure, but being friends with you might lead to betrayal of her trust in me."

The words were like a bucket of iced water.

In New York, they'd kissed and made tender love; they'd laughed together, cuddled and hugged, sharing plans and ambitions. Had it meant nothing? Had she changed? Or had she been this... this pleasure machine all along - sent by that woman?

What she'd seen that morning flashed before her eyes again.

"So, you're just a whore pleasing a customer?" the blonde asked, regretting the word as soon as it slipped out. But the girl didn't seem to care.

She shrugged, making her deeply tanned titties dance.

"Names are not important," she said. "I'll be a slave soon. Slaves can be anything that pleases their owners. I can be a whore for Mistress, or for anyone she points out to me; I can be a slut... or a cook, a maid or a travel companion.

"I guess I can even be a friend?"

The blonde just stared, feeling shocked.

She felt as if the girl drifted away from her, disappearing into a separate world - a world devoid of feelings, where they would be complete strangers.

To her surprise, it hurt. She took the girl's chin in her hand, making her look at her eyes.

"So, what are you to me?" she asked, adding the forbidden name. "What's left of us? Is there an 'us' at all?"

The girl's lashes blinked.

"I'm not her," she said.

The non-answer felt like a rebuke. It stung the blonde. She sank back in her rattan chair. How could this girl be so sweet and submissive and yet so arrogantly distant?

An angry thought came up.

"I could tell the woman you failed to please me, when she comes back. Then what?" she said.

Rustling palm leaves emphasized the silence following her words. The girl's brown eyes stayed on hers; they didn't waver.

"Failing to please you would be failing her," she said. "I'd be punished."

The answer flooded the blonde's mind with flashes of violence - the riding crop she saw at the plane, hitting soft flesh. It left her shocked, yet shamefully curious.

"Punished? How?" she asked. The girl shrugged yet again.

"That is for her to decide." The utter fatalism touched the blonde like a cold finger. The scene on the plane again invaded her mind - and the girl's eyes when she begged her to have her breasts flogged.

"You don't seem to fear punishment?" she asked. The girl shook her head no.

"Punishment is not important," she said, making a throwaway gesture. Then she looked up. There were no tears, but her eyes shone with moisture. "But disappointing Mistress yet again would really hurt me," she said. "I might lose her and be all alone.

"I might die."

The sadness of her voice shook the blonde as hard as what she said.

***

A girl, questioned.

"I'm sorry I threatened you this afternoon," the blonde said, drawing her fork through the spicy ratatouille of eggplant, peppers and zucchini the girl had made for supper.

Dusk had fallen; she was sitting at a table on the high platform, overlooking the beach and the dark, shining sea. The girl knelt at her feet, caressing the dog's impressive skull.

It rested in her bare lap.

"I should not have done that," she went on, trying to keep her eyes away from the brute, "because it wasn't true what I said; you please me wonderfully."

Over and over the blonde had tried to get the girl to sit with her at the table during meals, but she'd smiled each time, telling how she wasn't supposed to - and how she'd eaten already.

The refusal annoyed her; she saw it as dismissal.

The girl didn't respond to her apology and by now she knew why she wouldn't - there hadn't been a direct question. She picked up the carafe of water, making the ice cubes tinkle. The sound triggered the girl. She rose in a flash, grasping the carafe and wringing it from her hand.

"My duty," she said, pouring the water into the crystal glass. When she put the carafe down again, the blonde's hand closed around her arm.

"Sit with me, honey," the blonde said. "I know you're not supposed to, but it would please me." She stressed the last two words, knowing they would cause a dilemma - the girl's explicit task was to please her, wasn't it?

The dilemma indeed showed on the girl's face. Then she sat down on the chair opposite the blonde, looking down.

After sipping water, the blonde addressed the girl by her forbidden name. Then she went on.

"I don't know why you decided you have to obey that woman, but it turned a girl I loved into an alien zombie. I can't accept that.

"However lovely you and this island are - I can no longer live with this pleasure-robot she turned you into."

The girl stubbornly kept her eyes down.

"Honey," the blonde went on, "when we met in New York you were an independent woman, deliciously alive and high spirited.

"Why did you give that up for this... this...?" The memories of the girl being abused flashed once more through her mind, as it had done all day.

The girl gave no reaction. Her irritation returned.

"I asked you something!" she insisted, raising her voice. From under the table she heard the dog growl; it caused a feeling of nausea.

At last the girl looked up.

"You're mistaken; I never was that girl," she said, repeating in a whisper, "I never was."

The blonde kept staring at her, expecting more, but nothing came.

"But I saw you, honey, and no mistake - you were there, witty and funny and alive. Was it a lie?

"What happened?"

The girl's eyes started wandering.

"It was...," she said. "It wasn't real; not really me. I thought it was, but it was make-belief, play-acting.

"My whole life was..."

The blonde pushed away her chair and walked around the table. She pulled the girl up and took her in a tight hug. It was like embracing a rag doll.

"My god," she said into the fragrant hair. "I saw you, this morning. I saw you on the plane, being face-fucked by that pilot. You offered yourself to complete strangers, like the boy in the boat.

"It disgusts me to see you like that. And it is killing you. I can see that! That woman is destroying you.

"Come with me! Let's get out of here and to New York. Let me call the boat; there must be a plane.

"You can live with me; we can..."

The girl's body stiffened, arching to get free. Small fists pushed against the blonde's chest.

"Let me go! I can't! You can't!"

The girl struggled herself free and ran to the stairs leading down to the beach.

The dog followed her like a shadow.

***

A blonde, sobered up.

The blonde woman climbed down the dark stairs of the platform and walked onto the cooling sands.

She felt the wind press the thin cotton of her kaftan against her body. Being outside the house's circle of light had its effect on the city-girl she was. The dark sky stretched like an infinite copula around her, swallowing her up into its mindless expanse. A round moon sailed at its center, amid a trillion stars.

It painted the sand and the surf with a bluish light.

She cried the girl's name against the booming ocean, her voice sounding tiny, useless. She knew the girl would not respond to the name, but what else was there to call her? 'Slut' or 'Honey cunt' as the woman had suggested? Not really names to cry out.

She felt the powdery sand sift through her toes as she walked; then she reached the sea where the beach got wet and firm, strewn with shells and pebbles. The wind became chilly, now tugging at her dress; it raised goose bumps and tightened her nipples.

A growing sense of loneliness crept in.

She called out again.

"I'm sorry! Please come back."

The darkness ahead released a bulky shape, standing like a statue at the edge of the water. It was the hound, its huge head down. She stopped, waiting. Her heart pounded as always around the huge canine. As a child, she'd never had a dog and they still could unsettle her with their unpredictability.

She'd never seen a dog as big as this one.

"Sit!" a small voice ordered. "Don't scare her."

The blonde now saw the girl sit on her haunches by the sea, stretching her arm to beckon the dog to her. As if by magic the creature lost its impressiveness. She even thought she heard him yelp as he sat down by the girl.

"I am the one to be sorry," the girl then said. "I should not have run off."

The blonde walked closer, giving the dog a wide berth; then she knelt on the wet sand next to the girl.

"No, my fault," she said, reaching across the girl's back for her far shoulder, pulling her against her. They sat together for a while, watching the distant foam crashing into the reef - it shone with the full moon's light.

"Honey," she finally said. "You know, you scare me being like... this. It just isn't natural."

The girl didn't respond, but her body leant closer.

The blonde went on.

"I'm sorry I let you down, that last time in New York. You see, I could've easily fallen for you and maybe I even did, that first time.

"But you scared me. There were the markings. And you were so... greedy when we made love; you so much wanted to be abused, begging me to be violent with you..."

Another silence filled itself with the ocean's noises.

"Maybe it shook me extra hard because, yes, I fell in love with you then," the blonde went on. She expected the girl to be surprised, but there was no sign of it.

"Yes," she went on. "I did. But I guess I was too scared to admit it... sorry." No response again.

"I let you down. I did love you, though; I still do. But when I love a girl, I want to make love to her, not fuck her hard and abuse her, you know?

"How could I know this was the way you wanted to be loved?"

No response again, but the blonde thought she heard a sob over the roar of the surf. She tightened the hug, softly rocking the girl.

"I was serious before," she said, again using the girl's redundant name. "And I am serious now.

"Come with me. Let's find a plane and run away. I know you love me. I knew it back then. It was a shock to see you like this; it is a shock.

"I saw you this morning, at sun-up. How can you allow that and be happy?"

The girl's voice floated on a sigh.

"Ah," she said. "You'll never understand. You're a good woman. It makes you presume others are too, but I am not who you think I am.

"I am bad, you know; I am no good. So many people have made your mistake; I even fooled myself for a very long time."

She stopped as abruptly as she'd started, letting another silence fall. The blonde knew better to intrude; she waited.

"I need this," the girl finally went on, her voice stronger, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. "It is who I am and Mistress is the one who understands; the only one.

"She knew it all the time and she helped me find out. I am grateful that she made me see.

"I have tried to deny it, the consequences scaring me."

Her small voice rose and sank with the surf.

"So," she went on after a pause, "I ran off time and time again, only to end up miserable, lonely and sick with need.

"I could no longer be on my own. The demons were always there, waiting for me, closing in on me, mocking me, torturing me..."

"The... demons...," the blonde whispered, feeling a silent horror creep into her.

The girl shrugged her shoulders free from the embrace. She rose to her feet, walking a few steps into the shallow sea. The moon's silvery light painted her curves.

When the water reached her knees, she turned to face the blonde.

"Yes, demons," she said. "They are the demons of my past; they have haunted me forever; even when I was a child.

"Mistress chased them away; as did the dog. I live in a cage, but not to be kept in; it keeps my demons out.

"I gave all I had to Mistress. It is the only way I can survive."

The blonde had also risen, watching the girl's silhouette against the shimmering sea. She let the incredible words sink in. A sick feeling spread from the pit of her stomach.

Wading into the water, she reached for the girl, grabbing her hands.

"Don't you see what she does to you?!" she cried out. "You need professional help, not this, this... witch woman!

"You need to get away from her. She's exploiting you! She makes you blow and fuck men, women, whomever and whatever her sick mind may think of...

"She's turning you into a whore, a sex-machine!"

The girl stared intensely. Then she shrugged.

"But I am a whore, darling," she said, calmly. "I always have been and when I finally agreed I was one, it chased away my demons.

"I am a slut. I love to be fucked in every conceivable way - every hole of my body. It empties my nagging head, calming my soul. It thrills me to watch people come, knowing it is me who makes them.

It is the one thing I am good at."

She stopped, looking around as if searching for words.