Angel, Demons Pt. 02

"I felt incredibly horny."

She rose on her knees, hugging the woman.

"Thank you so much for this awesome afternoon, sweet Mistress. Did you see the huge cock on the white guy? And the black one? God, I thought I'd never get enough of them.

"Oh, my god, thank you, sweet woman. This is a day I'll never forget. Never! First, I died of shame and then I went to heaven.

"Kiss me, please. Please kiss me!"

They kissed.

And when they stopped kissing, they kissed again.

Wet lips slid around wet lips like mating snails, pink and slippery; tongues rolled together, whipping up a froth of lipstick-tainted, sperm-scented saliva.

The woman's hands rose to hold the girl's dark head, pulling her down to her lap. Busy fingers undid the zipper of her leather skirt and soon the girl's magic tongue entered her soaking slit - releasing a devastating climax.

The car stopped right in front of the club's main entrance.

The woman gently pushed the girl away. Then she closed her skirt, sitting up straight while the chauffeur came around to open her door.

She picked up the chain and refastened it to the girl's collar.

The Great Dane rose, waiting for the girl to follow him. The girl wrapped the furs around her, before rising to her feet, but when she got out, the woman took her cover away from her.

"But," she protested.

The woman slapped her naked ass cheek.

"No "buts," she said. "Get out and follow the dog."

***

A girl, exposed.

She was horrified.

Walking into a seedy bar or walking naked down the streets of an unknown town had been scary, but also arousing. She wondered how the thrill had been able to overcome her embarrassment. Maybe it was because those were anonymous places. None of the people there had known her; she wore a mask of anonymity.

Here, though, she was very well known.

She had friends here; people she'd meet again. Of course, this place had its freedoms. But some people knew who she was outside. She was a businesswoman, a respected member of society, a church-going girl (ah, well... not really, but nevertheless...).

She had things to lose.

On and off they'd seen her naked body in here - used it even. She'd been collared and leashed here by the woman - but that was a game. It was different from walking into the club totally naked, chained to a dog that led her, wasn't it? She still had dried sperm stuck to her skin and in her hair, for chrissakes! She might meet friends (and enemies).

Oh god, she'd die, really die!

The chain drew a taut line from her throat to the hound's strong neck. He never stopped on his short walk to the entrance. She tried to pull in the leash, but there was not nearly enough strength in her arms.

And then the cruel goddess of fate decided to have a field day.

The big door opened and at the top of the steps stood a well-curved BB and her leggy friend with the fiery curls - the very mothers of gossip. Their eyes went huge; their mouths became perfect O's of shock, soon to be covered by the classic gesture of surprise.

"Is that you?" BB asked with her usual sense of superfluity.

Then the giant dog shouldered her aside, leading the naked girl past her friends. Her eyes were down; she never acknowledged the women, plodding past them. A blush rose from her breasts to the crown of her head. Her hands were around the chain, knuckles white from squeezing.

Tears ran down her cheeks - humiliation never had a more perfect stage.

"Hi, girls," the woman said in a friendly voice. She walked a few feet behind the dog and the girl, swaying on nylon legs in high-heeled boots. A leather jacket lay loosely draped over her shoulders. She smiled, eyes hidden by Ray-Ban shades. The fingers of her raised hand did a little dance of casual greeting when she passed the speechless duo.

The cool foyer behind the entrance was mercifully empty.

The girl walked across its marble floor, the soft plodding of her naked feet a counter point to the clicking nails of the dog. She expected the animal to take a route towards the stairs that would bring them safely to the apartment's hidden elevator, but the dog turned right to the entrance of the bar and salon.

"No, sweetie," she said, once more pulling at the chain. "Not there. The apartment is to the left, you know that."

"Follow your master, honey," the woman said from behind her. "He knows best."

The girl turned around, swallowing the word "but" right in time. The look on her face slowly changed to horror. She crashed to the floor, forcing the dog to a halt.

"I can't go there like this," she said. "You must understand that - they know me, they are my friends. They'll ridicule me; despise me forever.

"I can't!"

Her voice was a sobbing whine.

The woman walked closer, her heels ringing with each step. She passed the girl and bent over when she reached the dog. She disconnected the chain from his collar, throwing it to the girl.

The metal links clattered when they hit the floor.

"You're right," she said. "It's your decision, honey, yours alone. You're free to go. Free to fuck your empty-headed vanilla friends. Free to spend the night with your demons. Free from nagging mistresses and their dogs.

"You're free."

Then she looked up, seeing the two women at the entrance. BB was talking lively into a cell phone. The woman turned to walk into the bar.

The dog followed her slowly, reluctantly looking back.

The girl stayed where she was - her ass kissing the cold stone floor. The chain hung from her hand; she studied the end that had been tied to the Dane's neck.

Free, the woman had said, she was free.

She let the word roll through her mind, almost tasting it with her tongue. It had only four letters, such a simple word; how could it have so many conflicting meanings?

Free - a word small enough to rattle in the hole that suddenly opened inside her.

She smelled their perfume before their shadows reached her - friends from a less complicated past.

"Where have you been?" the leggy redhead asked her. "And what on earth have you been doing?" Her voice was thick with the need of sensation. The girl looked up. The links of the chain slid through her fingers like a rosary.

"Am I a fool?" she asked. "Please, be honest and tell me - am I sick?"

Both women crooned reassuring words. The redhead folded her endless legs as she sank to her haunches, making her tight skirt ride up her thighs. She embraced the girl, whispering soothing noises.

"Don't be silly, sweetie," she said, keeping the girl's smudged face carefully away from her precious new blouse. "You're just..."

"Confused," BB added. She stood with her arms folded, pushing up her tightly packed bosom. Her voice was the cutting edge of the redhead's butter knife.

The naked girl struggled to her knees, pushing herself free from the halfhearted embrace.

"Yes, I guess I am," she said, her voice sounding puzzled. "Confused and... and scared. But whenever I try to leave her, I always return. She makes me do things that scare me and yet... I feel ashamed and proud, hurt and excited - all at once.

"You... I guess you can't understand. She keeps me aroused, okay? She makes me come and come. And I need that.

"I need it."

"She treats you like a dog," BB said, looking disgusted. The girl shook her head.

"No," she almost whispered. "The dog is my master."

Now the confusion was BB's. Her mouth mimicked the word "master," but there was no sound.

"Don't tell me... ," she started, before a cloud of horror darkened her face. "Oh no!" she cried out.

The girl said nothing, the chain sliding through her fingers.

BB backed off, pulling her friend with her. They whispered frantically. Then they turned and left the hall in an explosion of echoing heels. The girl, once more alone, sighed. The chain's links jangled.

Freedom, she thought. Who needs freedom?

She rose to her feet and slowly, slowly walked up the stairs and to the elevator to retrieve her clothes at the apartment.

***

A girl, mastered.

The woman found her in front of the apartment's fireplace.

Her oiled body shone, her hair was as black as night, cascading in curly waves down her back. Eyes down, she chewed her lips.

The woman stopped in her stride. She took the girl in. Then, without a word, she walked past her, throwing her long leather coat on a chair.

Sitting down in a club chair in front of the girl, she crossed her legs, straightening her skirt. Then she opened her phone and started swiping.

The girl fidgeted with her fingers in front of her shaven crotch. Small, rustling sounds filled the silence. She sighed, changing her weight from the right foot to the left, and back again.

Another few minutes went by; the old Jugendstil clock chopped time into manageable particles, making eternity seem less endless.

At last, the woman closed her phone with a click. It seemed a major event in the barren desert of silence. Then she picked up her sketchbook, starting to rustle through its pages.

After another few minutes of waiting, the girl took a step forward. From under her eyebrows, she looked for the woman's possible disapproval. When nothing happened, she took another careful step and another, the cushions of her naked feet touching the floor with feather lightness.

At last she knelt in front of the seated woman. She lowered her ass cheeks to fold over her heels. Her nipples trembled from the release of a long-held breath.

When nothing happens, each tiny sound or movement becomes important - the scratching of a pen; a dangling foot; the sound of a distant church bell. The girl took it all in. At last she looked up, straight into the dark-green gaze of the woman.

"So, you didn't leave," the woman said. Her voice had a hoarse tinge. "Why?"

The girl swallowed, looking down and up again.

"Because I found out I was wrong," she then said.

"Did you, really?" the woman wondered, lifting an eyebrow. She leant forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, hands folding together.

"Now please tell me," she went on, warmly. "Why would that interest me?"

Confusion took the girl's smile away.

"But," she said - and stopped again.

The woman glanced at the clock.

"I have to leave soon," she said, sliding her phone into her leather clutch. "So, if that is all?"

"I..," the girl resumed, haltingly. "Please let me explain."

"Ah!" the woman exclaimed with a sudden smile. "Explanations! I love explanations." The sarcasm made the girl wince, but she plodded on.

"It was shame, Mistress. I disobeyed you out of shame. The dog, you know, and the chain... me, naked, the girls, everything..."

She fell silent again, fidgeting, looking down.

"Look up, cunt!" the woman cried out. "Or I leave now! And don't call me mistress."

The girl looked up. She swallowed, a blush flushing her face.

"Will you," she whispered, "will you forgive me, please? I mean... I..." Her soft voice petered out; it carried a note of desperation.

The woman just watched her, saying nothing. Then she sat up straight, waving a hand, making it flutter.

"Words," she said. "Always words. Please tell me, cunt, what are you prepared to do?"

"Anything," the girl breathed. "Anything!"

The woman grinned.

"Wow," she said. "Anything sure is a lot. Maybe you could be more, uhm, specific?"

The girl shook her head.

"Anything," she repeated.

The woman stared at her calm, open face. A minute went by, then two.

"Crawl over to the trunk, girl," she then said, shaking her head into the direction of the big black trunk next to the fireplace. "Bring me the oblong leather box you'll find at your right hand."

The girl crawled to the trunk, returning with the narrow leather box. She handed it to the woman and resumed her place, looking down between her naked, slightly spread thighs, her hands resting on them, palms up.

The woman clicked the box open and studied its content. Then she raised her eyes.

"Look at me, cunt," she said, soft and friendly.

Holding the girl's eyes, she smiled and said:

"I see you don't cry, darling. No tears to move me, no blubbering. I'd almost think you really feel guilty for what you did."

The girl scurried closer.

"But I do, Mistress. I do!" she said, reaching for the woman's legs.

The woman slapped her face hard, making her reel.

"I told you not to call me that, slut," she hissed. "Remember? You left me, disobeyed me, betrayed me. I'm not your mistress anymore; maybe I never was."

She reached into the box and showed the girl a short riding crop. Its handle was made of braided black leather and it had a soft flap at its tip.

She teased the girl's face with it.

"Taste its tongue, bitch. Suck on it." She pushed the soft flap past the girl's teeth and onto her tongue. She automatically started to suck the leather, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes wide.

The woman watched her, holding the crop's handle.

"You're not mine anymore," she said, as softly as before. "You betrayed me one time too many. I've had enough of your promises; they're just words - lies.

"So, if you need to talk, talk to this, whore, this crop you are sucking on. You want a mistress? Ask it. Maybe it'll become your master if you beg hard enough."

The girl's eyes never left the woman's while her mouth worked on the ancient leather.

Then the woman pulled the dripping flap free and struck her across the face with it, raising an angry welt. It made the girl cry out in pain.

The woman dropped the crop in front of her.

"Pick it up and hug it close to you, bitch. It might be your only companion for a long time to come.

"To me it's a riding crop, to you it's a he and he is your master. You are his. You will always have him with you. His handle will be between your bare tits when you go to bed. That way his tongue will touch your clit - always, every night, whether you're alone or not.

"And whenever you feel you should be punished, you bring him to me and beg me to use him on you.

"Do you understand?"

It took the girl two seconds and three flutters of her eye lashes to slowly start nodding.

"I understand, Mistress. Thank you."

The woman kicked her, making her slide a half circle on the tiles.

"No! You don't understand at all, whore!" she said, her voice ice cold. "Calling me mistress proves you don't. You're not worthy of calling me mistress, silly twat.

"You can't even talk to me; you lost that privilege. You're so far below me that I would never hear your voice.

"All you do from now on is talk to your new master. Understand?"

There was another kick, another bruise.

The girl winced. Her face sank to the floor. She hugged the crop, mumbling inaudible words. Her lips touched the leather. She'd stopped crying, although her shoulders still shook. Then her voice became clearer. She sat up, fixing her eyes on the riding crop in her hands.

It looked like praying.

"M-master," she said. "S-sweet Master, please tell..."

She broke down, falling forward as she strangled the crop's shaft.

"Anything..." the woman said, standing over her, the tips of her boots almost touching the girl.

The girl's ruined face gleamed through her riotous hair.

"I...," she said. "I can't. I just... it is too... I..."

"I see," the woman said, turning away. "Leave. Don't come back."

The girl just sat and stared, the crop against her chest, her mouth working. Then she crawled back, collecting her clothes, and left the apartment.

The woman returned to her chair and her sketchbook.

She cursed under her breath.

***