Angel, Demons Pt. 07

"Pain arouses me," she then said, "as does being pissed on and humiliated. I need to give in to what my body wants. When I don't, I suffer.

"Being a slut is what sets me free. It is the only way I can get through my life."

The blonde didn't know what to say.

She tried to get her mind around the girl's defeatism. Women who relished to be victimized abhorred her - she usually kept as far away from them as she could.

Seeing the girl like this made her reel with nausea.

She felt disgusted and yet sickeningly fascinated. Maybe it was the wide-open innocence of the girl; her total absence of shame. She was calm and open - completely at ease with herself; and entirely vulnerable.

She felt tears press against her eyes.

Stepping forward, she embraced the girl while the waves licked at her calves, swirling the soaked cotton of her kaftan around her legs. Her mouth found the girl's, weak and welcome as always, and they kissed. All worries, it seemed, left her, to be replaced by the simple response of her body.

"Oh god, honey, I love you," she panted after they separated. Then she broke down, crying. The girl's arms were around her as she sank into the water.

"You can't love me," the girl whispered. "But you can fuck me."

***

A girl, lied to.

"She'll dump you, you know? She told me herself; she doesn't care at all. She'll sell you.

"The day after tomorrow, at the end of her fashion show on the big island, she'll put you up for auction - selling you off to the highest bidder."

The blonde didn't know why she said it.

That's to say, she knew why she said it. But it was a lie and she knew very well why she lied. It was jealousy. She'd never call it that. She'd call it love.

Love allows lying, doesn't it?

They had kissed and hugged in the water before crawling out and getting back to the house. The soaked kaftan had stuck transparently to her body, dragging through the sands until she'd shed it.

Both naked they'd climbed the ladder, shivering from the evening breeze.

They'd fucked in the bed until exhaustion left them motionless. Then the blonde had turned to the girl and said the words. She knew she'd hit home when she felt the girl stiffen in her embrace.

"No," the girl said. "No, she wouldn't."

"She told me," the blonde repeated, almost hearing the proverbial cock crowing.

The girl's eyes were wide open as she studied the blonde's face to find... truth. But what could she look for? Would she even recognize truth anymore? By now there was only one source of truth left, wasn't there? The mouth of Mistress.

Doubting that would leave her homeless.

She would be lost forever, wouldn't she? Doubting the woman had always brought her pain and misery. She might just as well take her life.

"No," she repeated. "No, no, no..."

The blond woman gathered her in her arms, radiating warmth. She said 'yes' again and again, capturing her with her wide-open gray eyes.

The girl's mind was in a turmoil.

It repeated the words of the blond woman. "She'll sell you; she always does," she'd said.

Mistress had once told her she might sell her, hadn't she? That she had sold girls before. But she was mad at her, then, long ago. She wasn't mad anymore, was she? And now this woman said she'd heard it too, this blonde woman with the huge, calm eyes.

What was her name? Memories returned - skyscrapers; a park. And a sensation that made her shiver. It felt alien and yet... She knew she'd felt it before.

'Freedom,' maybe? Funny word... scary word.

"No, she wouldn't," she said. "She never would; not me. She promised." A sob gave the words a twist - like adding a question mark.

But she didn't cry.

The blonde tightened her hug. "She will," she whispered. "She told me she will."

***

A woman, panicked.

The sun touched the ocean in a swirl of reds and oranges.

It bathed the lounging people on the beach, their bodies glowing from a day of tanning and playing in the surf. By now they'd showered and dressed up in their most fashionable summer outfits before returning to the beach where cocktails were mixed and small snacks served.

After dark, torches lit up the sand.

A full moon drifted lazily on a downy bed of clouds. There was an open-air bar, a grill. The music of a tropical band lured dancers to the tiny floor.

Anticipation hung in the balmy air - promises of another night in paradise.

The woman had planned her bi-annual show of new designs to be held on the beach of the main island - tomorrow. It was a setting one wouldn't easily associate with her line of lingerie.

But she never was one for embracing the obvious.

She also loved to show how her erotic creations could be worn in tropical settings, extending her market. For her guests, it was a welcome change from the ancient castles and posh European mansions where she usually did her presentations.

Yesterday and today they'd flown in from all over the world.

The woman met them at the reception, welcoming many of them with a hug. Most were good customers as well as longtime friends, each of them anticipating the discreet and tolerant company of like-minded people for a few days.

Right now, the woman walked from group to group, wearing a flimsy lace corset under a colorful gauze sarong. She kept the conversation light and the glasses filled.

But her mind was far away - as far away as a plane might take you in ten or eleven hours, to be precise.

She'd been nervous these last few days, doubting her good sense in testing the girl. The message she got this afternoon seemed to confirm her worst fears.

But what could she have done differently?

She knew she took a chance, leaving the girl with her one-time New York crush. It had been a risk - a silly, reckless risk it might seem by now - 'giving the devil an inch' and all that.

The girl had been quite clear when she told her about the intensity of the feelings she'd had for the woman. Had it been wise to push her along on her journey by forcing her to be alone with the blonde, and pleasure her?

The woman shrugged.

What would have been the point of the whole exercise if she still couldn't trust the girl? If things went wrong now, wouldn't they also have later-on? And wasn't it better to know now?

The woman forced her face into a smile when she greeted yet another of her guests, her mind wandering back to this morning.

Around eight the owner of the boat had informed her that the blonde called him to be picked up from the small island and taken here.

The woman had been in the last rehearsal of the show.

In a hurry, she'd told him to pick them up and bring them over, too busy to even wonder why the blonde had wanted to leave prematurely.

She started worrying when neither of the girls showed up by noon. She called the skipper and he told her he'd delivered the women and a dog at the hotel around eleven.

But at the reception no one had seen them.

She sent a girl to the airport to learn that a tall blond American woman had indeed bought two tickets for the next flight to New York. The names fitted. They were reported to have checked in to leave at 13.35.

The plane had left on schedule to fly to Rome, where they would get a transfer to New York.

The girl didn't have her passport on her and yet they'd gone? Officials must have been bribed. But what about the dog?

No one mentioned a dog.

Back at the beach the faces in front of her looked expectant. She must have missed what they were saying. Smiling awkwardly, she excused herself. It was no use trying to socialize when she felt like this.

She turned away, but as she did so she thought she saw a glimpse beyond a row of torches - a silver-gray flash; a pale ghost disappearing.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She rushed past the torches, her eyes scanning the growing darkness beyond. After they got used to it, she saw a massive silhouette against the moonlit structure of the raised catwalk.

Next to it was a smaller shape, crouching low.

She cried out, her lips shaping words as she rushed towards them. She fell to her knees, collecting the creature in her arms.

"Mistress," was the response she got, feeling it vibrate against her chest. "Here I am. It's been so long..."

They hugged and kissed, kneeling in the sands. Tears ran down the woman's cheeks. The girl just smiled, repeating:

"I'm here."

"Yes, yes, you are," the woman exclaimed. "You are and I am so relieved.

"What happened?"

Her question brought a puzzled look to the girl's face.

"Nothing happened," she said. "Nothing important. The blonde woman wanted to leave, so we left and now I'm here.

"She took the airplane back home."

A sudden uncertainty flushed her face.

"Did she complain?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Did I not please her? Is that why she left early? Did she tell you I failed you?

"I didn't, you know? I didn't."

The woman at once embraced her again.

"Oh no, no!" she said. "You did nothing wrong. I love you, honey. I love you.

"But I heard you'd left with her on that plane."

Relief had replaced the alarm on the girl's face when the woman assured her she'd done well, but then confusion crept in.

"Who said so? I'd never leave you, Mistress. How could I?" she whispered, her voice laced with hurt. "You must still believe I'm a poor slave to think that.

"I'm so sorry..."

She buried her face and tits in the sand, arching her back and pushing out her ass in submission.

The woman just knelt there, feeling awkward and ashamed as she stared down on the groveling girl.

Her mind was in turmoil.

"I just...," she said, reaching for the fan of hair that spread out in front of her. She rubbed a curl between her fingers, studying it. "I thought she seduced you, trying to take you with her - but you refused?

"You fled?"

The girl didn't respond for a while. Then she lifted her face. Grains of sand stuck to her skin. She smiled.

"Does it matter, Mistress?" she said. "I'm here. I'm yours."

They kissed again under the velvet copula of a sky strewn with bright pinpricks. Grains of sand crunched between their teeth.

The quiet moon sailed on, spreading its silver light. The distant surf's laughter mingled with the music and the contented murmurs of a crowd having a good time.

The huge dog pushed his face between the bodies of his Mistress and his bitch. The three of them melted into an embrace.

"You did well too, boy," the woman said into the gray pelt. "You guarded your little bitch.

"Thank you."

***

A girl, home.

The suite was huge.

It was a penthouse on top of the resort's main hotel, overlooking most of the island through panoramic windows. Some of them were open to a terrace, letting the early morning breeze in.

The suite looked strangely empty to the woman's gaze, after having been crammed with stuff and people for the last five days.

Most of it was at the beach now, in the big tent they would use to prepare for tonight's show. She wondered if her girls had slept at all after the party, their heads buzzing from the music and the colorful cocktails, their sweet bellies humming with the butterflies of anticipation. Vain little exhibitionists they were, all of them.

But who wouldn't, with bodies like theirs? And an endless number of sexy outfits to wrap them in?

She always let them mingle with her guests the night before a show, dressed in sexy gear she'd designed for the occasion. She knew her guests appreciated it and it generated a welcome feeling of growing intimacy.

She knew the girls would never cross the line by drinking too much; they loved working for her too much to risk their jobs. Of course, there would have been a lot of dancing and flirting and groping, but never more than that, at least not before a show. They all knew that whetting an appetite was as important as the show itself.

She sighed, feeling the sleeping girl against her naked skin.

She'd wrapped her body around the balled-up, fetus-like creature. It felt like carrying a baby in her womb, a small, glowing source of heat. She slowly traced the bumps of the girl's arched spine and neck until her finger disappeared into the dark forest of her hair.

"My girl," she whispered. "Almost there."

The girl moaned softly, letting her thumb slide out of her mouth.

"She wanted me to betray you," she mumbled, her sleepy voice muffled by the bed.

"What did you say, honey?" the woman asked. "Who?"

The girl untangled herself and rose on her elbows. Her face was creased from sleep, pinkish where she'd pressed it into the mattress.

She looked shockingly young.

"The blonde woman," she said, letting her sleepy eyes wander until they met her mistress's. "She wanted me to come with her..."

"I thought so," the woman said, brushing the stray hair out of the girl's face. "She booked a flight for you, but you didn't go."

The girl stayed silent. She looked away.

"You almost went, though," the woman then said. The girl sighed. "But you didn't, so don't worry, honey cunt, don't worry."

The woman embraced her; they hugged.

"You... you tested me," the girl said, looking over the woman's shoulder into the dark, reflecting window. "And I almost failed."

"But you didn't," the woman whispered. "You're here. That is all I need to know."

"I love you; you are my Mistress," the girl said.

"I know, honey," the woman answered. "As do I."

***

A woman, asked.

They made lazy, tender love before showering, dressing and having breakfast on the lovely terrace - just a last, relaxed moment before a crazy day.

"You passed the last stage, honey," the woman said, while adding a pinch of salt to her soft-boiled egg. The girl looked up from her bowl of fruit, a hesitant smile on her face.

"Did I?" she asked. "I guess so. When?"

"You passed it when you walked out of that airport, honey, when you decided not to go with her," the woman explained. "You passed the gate when you took the exit of the airport."

The girl reached out to remove a splotch of yolk from her mistress's lip. The woman stopped her hand and licked the yellow speck off the fingertip.

They giggled.

"I'm glad, Mistress," the girl said. "I'm glad to pass these gates for you, but it is not important anymore. I feel I'm already where I belong.

"I really do."

The woman studied the girl's face.

"That's what it does, honey clit, that last stage," she then said. "Forgetting what isn't important anymore.

"You're free now to be who you really are."

The girl shrugged, making her still-moist curls dance.

She stared at her spoon that held chunks of juicy melon and strawberry, glistening with honey. She brought it to her mouth, wrapping her lips around it. She started chewing; then she swallowed. Her eyes were on the woman's all the time.

Her hand gestured with the spoon.

"Will you sell me now?" she asked. There was no emotion, just the question.

"Will I what?" the woman said, shock tainting her voice.

"The blonde woman said you sell your slaves when they are ready," the girl explained, her voice still void of emotions. "She said you'd make a lot of money on me.

"You told her, she said."

The woman was dumbfounded, both by the words and by the matter-of-fact way they were delivered.

The girl didn't seem to care. The woman leant forward, trying to catch her eyes. She held her breath, wondering if she dared ask.

Then she did.

"What would you say if I did plan on selling you, honey?"

Silence - steady eyes, a bobbing throat as the girl swallowed another bite of pulpy fruit.

"I... I guess I would be proud if you made a lot of money on me, Mistress. I'd be proud to know I earned it for you and that it would please you."

The girl's gaze was empty. A tear ran from her left eye.

The woman dropped her napkin and slid off her chair. She rushed to the girl and sank on her knee in front of her. Her hands grabbed the girl's face, holding it steady - then shaking it to the rhythm of her words.

"I. Never. Will. Sell. You!" she cried out, punctuating the words. "You hear, girl? I. Never. Will.

"I need you way too much. I could not live without you!"

Then she hungrily sought the girl's mouth with her own - kissing.

The girl at first just took the kiss like a passive doll. Then she started kissing back. Tears and saliva mixed as their faces fused. The kiss seemed to never end, but when it did, the woman still held the girl's face, her own only inches apart.

"Tonight, I'll marry you, girl," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. "You'll be my wife, my slave wife forever, my sex doll. You'll be mine; your eyes and face and body, your mind and soul and above all your tits and mouth and cunt and ass hole.

"You'll be all mine. I'd rather die than ever sell you."

The girl stared, lost for words.

Then she brought her face forward again and kissed her Mistress.

A phone rang. It kept ringing until it stopped. When it started ringing again, they were still kissing.

***

A woman, a girl.

The stage had gone pitch dark.

The loud and dramatic final notes of the show's music echoed into silence; the only sound remaining was the lazy murmur of the ocean's surf and the chirping of a thousand crickets.

The woman on the catwalk stood like a dark silhouette against the night-blue sky. She was nervous, feeling certain that everyone could hear the thumping of her heart.

Her knees were locked, her back straight.

Down and around her she vaguely discerned the ghostlike faces of her guests. They floated in darkness like pale lampions, looking up at her. The crowd had gone silent after the cheering and applause for the show. Even the rush of murmuring voices had died down by then; everybody knew this wasn't the end yet.

There had not been the traditional bridal outfit that signaled the end of the show, nor had the woman taken her leave amidst her models.

The show had been a success.

She was convinced she'd surprised them once again, making their journey worthwhile. They had seen an amazing pageant of bold and sensually designed corsets and lingerie, displayed on spectacular bodies and paced through the show by the beat of arousing music.

Every stitch had been meant to enhance the breathtaking girls that wore them, making them look taller, curvier and yes, sluttier than maybe even the most perverted of her guests conjured up in their dreams.

The tropical setting had allowed for lots of skin and hotter colors. The woman was certain that the balmy air and the served cocktails had added to a general mood of arousal and excitement.

She knew that she needn't worry about her business for the next year.

But of course, that wasn't why her heart was racing; or why her eyes burned with anticipation as she fixed them on the dark-in-dark entrance to the catwalk. It wasn't why her breath got stuck in her chest, tightly laced into her severest corset.

Black had been her color of choice for tonight, as so often.

She wore leather as black as her hair and the make-up of her eyes; her high-heeled boots were as black as her lips and fingernails; so were her gloves and the garters that held up her stockings.

She was in full Mistress mode and the reason for that lay hidden in the pitch-dark shadows sixty feet away from her.

No one, not even her closest girls, had ever met the mysterious girl before today. Of course, most of them had experienced the awesome hold she had on their boss's moods this last year, but they'd never actually seen her.

Today the woman had confined her to the suite.

She'd let her sleep and lounge before having her bathed, pampered and prepared. Her luscious hair had been washed and styled, her baby-bare cunt scrutinized for elusive stubbles, her bowels flushed, her lovely asshole lubricated and closed with the most generous plug available.