Angel, Demons Pt. 01

They sipped in silence for a bit.

"Russian Earl Grey," the woman said, putting her cup down. "You like? I mean the tea, not the earl."

She grinned at her own silly little joke.

The girl nodded, not admitting that she'd love a lump of sugar and a dash of milk in it. Somehow, she thought, asking for it would surely not agree with her hostess's sense of civilization.

"Or would you prefer some sugar and milk, honey?"

Startled by the coincidence she didn't know what to say. The woman laughed her rich, creamy laugh again and ordered a sachet of sugar and a little can of steamed-up milk.

"I must be an open book," the girl muttered, clouding her tea with the milk.

The woman smiled. She was almost as transparently pale as the last time, her eyes green, and piercing. But there was nothing forbidding about her, today.

"So now you must think I find you a little American barbarian, darling?" she said. "Ruining a perfectly good cup of tea?"

Her chuckling took away the sting.

"Believe me: I don't!" she went on. "To the contrary! I'm sure you're very special. So many ancestors of beautiful, clever girls migrated here from all the corners of the world. Are you from Italian stock? Greek, maybe?

"Or no, Jewish?"

"My parents came from Lebanon, fleeing from the violence," the girl said. "I'm Arab, but not Muslim! We are Christian."

"The land of the giant cedars, lovely," the woman commented. Her hand touched the girl's arm, sending a sudden shiver up her spine.

"It explains your exotic beauty, honey," she went on. "The clear olive skin and the hair, oh my, your hair. I love it." The hand had traveled up and was now caressing the girl's night-black hair, weighing its curls.

She laughed. It made her nipples shiver against the silk of her camisole, drawing the girl's attention to them -- again.

"They say I'm a pagan, darling," the woman proceeded. "A degenerate heathen. I enslave good Christian girls.

"Boo! Beware!"

The girl couldn't suppress a giggle.

The face the woman pulled was in wild contrast with her sophisticated elegance -- and the corseted fury she recalled. It caused an irresistible glee to bubble up in her as well and they both laughed, making people turn their heads.

The woman's hand was on hers.

"Now tell this lost heathen, honey. What did they try to turn you into?"

The girl's giggling stopped. Damn, why these digs all the time?

"I guess that was too personal," the woman said with a smile. The girl shook her head, making her curls dance.

"No, I...just... ," she stuttered. "I guess I'm just not used to being this frank about things like that.

"I never had a conversation like this with... well..."

The woman smiled again and picked up her cup, sipping her tea.

"A stranger, you mean. No," she said. "I guess not." For just a second the emerald eyes darkened. Then another bright smile chased the clouds away. "I heard that you're quite popular here, honey."

The woman's grinning only increased the heat of the girl's fierce blushing. A cool hand touched her arm.

"It's all right, darling," she said. "Isn't that what we all want: being liked -- loved, even?" The girl hid her eyes inside her teacup.

"Well..." she said, not knowing quite what was meant.

"If you'd ask me, darling," the woman interrupted, "I'd say you're wasting your time, running around and getting drunk, fucking girls whose name you don't even remember. Trying to fit in with feminist lesbians just to belong.

"That's not you at all, is it?"

The girl looked up, wanting to protest. She ran straight into two emerald headlights, upsetting her as profoundly as true headlights might startle a doe on the highway.

"I... but..." she stammered.

The woman smiled.

"All you ever really wanted was not having to grow up, honey," she said, caressing the girl's skin. "Isn't that true?"

The soft fingertips ignited electric heat, crawling under her skin. The eyes seemed to widen, engulfing her vision.

"You just want to be... away from it all, don't you, darling?" the voice went on, as the fingertips drew tiny circles on her skin that made her shudder. "Just having fun, living in a buzz.

"No questions asked, no dilemmas encountered."

The room seemed gone. The world was a glass bell, hardly larger than her head.

And the voice never stopped.

"You need a world that's not so... confusing, don't you? If only someone would lead you there, taking the brunt.

"If only you could be... nobody?"

The last word was whispered, but it seemed to linger all about her, like a perfume.

"Maybe you need someone to tell you what to do," the voice went on while the eyes smiled. "I watched you. You'd be a perfect little slave, honey, Christian or not."

Suddenly alarmed, the girl rose from her chair, causing the soaked paper napkin to drop from her gasping pussy.

The woman raised her hands in apology.

"Never mind, honey." The voice seemed to crawl through a mist. "So sorry, it was just a thought.

"You certainly should know better than I do."

The girl protested, but halfway she sat down again, squishing the soppy napkin against her skirt. There was nothing to protest, was there? The woman was spot-on. With her, she was unable to cover up her true thoughts, it seemed -- just as unable as tearing her eyes away from her gaze.

"Are you... are you hypnotizing me?" she asked in a whisper. The woman chuckled. Her hand had returned and felt quite heavy on her arm now.

"Would you want me to?" she asked.

The voice was muffled by the blood pulsing in her temples. The hand caressed her shoulder; the fingers reached her chin, turning her face up. The woman's eyes were very close now -- as was her mouth.

"I... I don't know," the girl said.

She gave in to the fingers that lifted her chin. Her ass cheeks rose from her chair. A weak mouth engulfed her lips. She responded, moaning as she sank into a hot universe of sweet, wet, yielding softness. Her tongue wrangled with a fat, dominant invader; spittle drooled from her lips -- and her body dissolved into a storm of feelings.

Then it all stopped as suddenly as it had started.

She fell back on the chair, slowly returning to consciousness. The woman had risen to her feet; the girl looked up to see her face. The purple lips mimicked the word "Wow." Then they smiled.

The girl tried to climb to her feet too, but her head reeled and her knees were mush.

The woman winked.

Then she turned on her heels and sashayed away. A hot haze descended on the girl. Her body started shaking, while her heart tried to find its way back down from her throat.

"A kiss, it was just a kiss!" she said to herself.

***

A girl, caught.

"You look a bit pale," the woman said, her black eyebrows knitting with concern.

She was dressed conservatively today -- sort of.

She even wore trousers under a short, deeply-cut waist-jacket with a black lace top underneath. She looks almost businesslike, the girl thought. Almost, for the top barely hid the pale flesh below -- and the heels of her boots were way too high.

When she'd been invited to drink tea again, the girl's first impulse had been to decline and run. Just thinking of the woman threw her in a state of paralyzed panic, caused by too many contradictory feelings.

But here she sat again, under the balcony, captured by the woman's elegant movements, her words, her smile. When she took her first sip, her lips tingled from kissing the cup's slick porcelain -- overwhelmed by memories of another kiss.

"Do you get enough sleep, darling?" The smile after the question was Mona Lisa's. The green eyes didn't waver.

"I never sleep much," the girl responded, shrugging.

"But you should, honey," the woman commented, widening her gaze. "Your beauty is too precious to squander away by lack of sleep. It would be selfish, wouldn't it -- depriving us poor mortals of your beauty?"

Now the smile was bigger and the eyes sparkled.

A wave of warmth washed through the girl's body. Her pussy hummed. How could such a banal conversation arouse her so? How could every word of this woman have so many meanings? Was it the sound? Was it the eyes, or those caterpillar lips?

"Mistress, please..."

The word hung in the air as if left by a passing stranger. But she'd been the one who'd said it, hadn't she, shaping it with her own lips and tongue?

Nevertheless, she had no idea where it had come from.

The woman's eyes lit up with mirth. She reached out and touched the girl's upper arm, once again sending a spark from her fingertips to the naked flesh.

"Mistress? Me? Why would I be your mistress, honey?" she asked, her voice embarrassingly loud. "What does it even mean?"

The girl looked forlorn.

"I... I don't know," she stuttered. It made the woman smile.

"Yes, I thought so," she said, her hand softly squeezing the girl's arm. "You don't know. But does that matter?

'Knowing' isn't the verb we're looking for, anyway, is it?"

"But tell me, honey," she went on, sitting straight, "do you at all know what a mistress is?"

The girl blushed deeply.

Her eyes shifted as if they tried to escape their sockets. Why had she used that word? Where did it come from? The damn video's no doubt, the Internet.

Then she cleared her throat and sat up straighter too.

"I saw you with your... girl. The petite blonde. It made me feel... funny. She was abused, ridiculed, humiliated -- but even so I... I envied her... it."

The words struggled their way out through thick, syrupy air.

All feelings she'd accumulated these last weeks, every suppressed emotion, wanted out -- each one jostling the other. Even if she wanted to take them back, she couldn't -- their place had already been taken by new and deeper secrets floating to the surface, wanting out too.

It made her tremble.

There were unspeakable questions rooted in unspeakable desires. Her lips started shaping them -- then scrambled them again into unintelligible mutterings.

She must sound like a complete idiot.

The calm green eyes were no longer probing -- they were just there. Slowly opening wider, they filled her entire vision -- warm and generous. They said: "Welcome." They whispered: "Trust me. Don't be scared, tell me all."

And then there was a real voice.

"Why would you envy her, honey? What is there to envy?"

"I... I don't know, really." The girl's voice gained a dreamlike quality. "But I have been... thinking. You were right of course, the last time."

At the back of her mind a small voice screamed warnings, but her halting words smoothed out into a stream -- as if a reservoir had been unplugged.

"I never rebelled,' she went on, "even as a child. People... guided me, shaped me. I did as they wanted. My brother, my mother, boys in school, teachers, my husband... I loved to be told what to do, I guess. Yes, I guess I did.

"It made me feel... safe?"

The girl took in a gulp of air, bracing herself.

"And since I saw you and your pet -- it touched me. I became curious to see if there might be... more."

"More?" the woman asked. "More of what?" Her hand was still on the naked arm, spreading heat.

"When -- what is she... he, the little blonde? -- took your foot in... his mouth until he gagged; it made me come. I hardly touched myself, but I came -- in public.

"I almost fainted."

There was silence, but for the angry buzz of a fly trying to fight its way out through a closed window.

The woman smiled -- sweetly.

"Ever since then," the girl went on. "I dream I am your pet too, naked, wearing a collar around my neck. I...oh, my god, I masturbate to that scene, and I see myself, sucking your toes as if they are little... cocks.

"My bed is drenched in the morning."

Another silence reigned. The words were out; nothing to be done to change them, no way to take them back.

The woman just went on stroking her arm.

"Please," the girl begged. "I need to know... why am I like this; who am I? You must know girls like me, girls that...

"Will you explain? Can you? Please?"

"Honey," the woman said, after yet another stretch of silence. "There is much misunderstanding about things like this. Painful misunderstanding."

A sudden tiredness touched her face.

"Are you sure you want to know?" she then went on. "I have seen so many girls fail, and all it caused was misery... for them, for me.

"They feel attracted to this, uhm, lifestyle because they love the rituals and the outfits. Many of them are just exhibitionists, really.

"And then there is the delicious horror promised by cuffs and gags and shining chains -- and of course the anticipation of exotic sex. They love the idea of it -- plus the wonderful escape it offers. Being forced, they bear no responsibility, you see, so they won't feel guilt.

"But, you know..."

The woman's hand had left the girl's arm and now cupped her chin, drawing her eyes straight at her own.

"Those girls have it all wrong. They miss the point. I call them tourists." She smiled, but didn't seem amused.

"They are like people exploring the dark jungle of Africa from the save confinement of air-conditioned resorts, catching the dangerous predators in the save glasses of their binoculars.

"I don't want girls like that. My girls must be slaves. Do you know what a slave is?"

The girl swallowed the parched insides of her throat. She was totally lost in the emerald eyes, now. Subs? Slaves?

It was hard to think.

"Someone who does as she's told?" she asked.

The woman chuckled. "Close enough for now," she said. "Rise, please."

The girl had trouble focusing. Then she swallowed again, and rose.

The woman's eyes went up and down her slender body, all five feet and maybe two inches of them. And when she reached the girl's feet, her eyes rose again and she repeated her survey slowly, taking in the face, the chest, the slender hips, the sleek legs and the tiny feet.

Silence grew for a full minute, and pink blotches climbed out of the girl's blouse. Then the seated woman said:

"Undress, please."

She smiled saying it, making it almost a casual by-the-way. The girl hesitated. Finally, her hands went up to the first unopened button of her flowery top, pausing there.

The woman chuckled.

"Come on, honey," she said. "You stripped in public before, didn't you?"

She was right; so, why were things different now?

Her face a blazing pink, the girl's fingers started to undo each button, one by one. Heads turned at the few occupied tables as the flimsy fabric slid off her shoulders, floating down to her feet.

"Nice bra," the woman complimented. "I love it when they're just made of thin satin -- the hugging kind, not so much supporting or pushing up; just keeping the sweet natural bounce in check."

The girl stood without motion, staring.

"I also love it when they come off," the woman went on, after a prolonged pause, nodding her head, smiling.

The girl's hands slipped behind her back, pushing out her chest in doing so. Little bumps showed in the shining satin. Then the bra slid off her shoulders and joined the blouse.

"Nice little apples," the woman commented. "I like pears too, but I certainly prefer them round, like these. And the funny oblong areola on your left tit is so endearing.

"Please pinch it."

The girl's hand rose to her left breast, cupping it.

"No, honey," the woman said. "Pinch the nipple with your finger nails. Don't be afraid to hurt it a little. You'll like it." She smiled her teeth bare and nodded encouragingly.

"Trust me."

The girl's fingernails gripped the tiny morsel from two sides. She moaned, closing her eyes, her thighs squeezing as if she had to go to the toilet.

"Ah, but harder, of course, honey," the woman said, laughing. "I didn't say: caress it, did I?

"Tweak it, darling, turn it and pull at it."

The moaning increased. Then there was a sharp intake of breath. The girl's eyes opened again, finding the woman's, holding them. Her hips moved as she squeezed her thighs together.

"You're wet, aren't you, honey?" The girl nodded.

"Let me see."

The woman rose and walked over.

She reached behind the girl, embracing the half-naked body. Her face almost touched the girl's, the jacket caressing bare breasts. The sound of a zipper exploded into the silence of the room.

When the skirt fell, the woman's other hand at once covered the front of her thong.

"Oh my, honey," she said. "You're truly soaked. Better get rid of these lovely panties before they are ruined."

She retreated, expecting the girl to remove the thong. It clearly showed a dark patch at the front. The girl seemed frozen, however.

"Honey?" the woman prodded. "Do I embarrass you? Do you think this is too humiliating?"

There was no response. The girl just stood there, naked but for her drenched panties, looking around, meeting the faces of a few onlookers.

Two of them she knew well.

"Sweetheart," the woman started again. "You asked for this, remember? You were the one who wanted to know how it is, but you don't have to do this.

"You may stop any time you want."

As if waking up, the girl's dark eyes returned to the woman's. She slowly nodded as if answering an unasked question and her hands slipped inside the band of the panties. She rolled them down her legs and stepped out of them.

"Stand straight, please. Let me look at you, darling."

The girl stood, flushed and embarrassed.

"Push those tits out, please. They're nice enough, so be proud of them. And spread your legs a bit. I see nothing to be ashamed of, I'd say.

"You're sweet and very beautiful."

The girl spread her legs a few inches and moved her hands to her back. She was totally exposed now. Most of the women present started watching closer.

Not a sound was heard.

"You crop your cunt hair, I see," the woman said, relishing the effect of her crude choice of words. "Nicely thick and dark, just like the lovely hair on your head.

"But true slave girls shave their cunts smooth like babies, didn't you know?"

The girl's head slowly went left and right; then up and down.

She knew, of course. But right now, to be true, she knew very little; just that her pussy was on fire -- a fire that her leaking juices didn't extinguish. On the contrary, it seemed to be feeding on them.

"Touch it for me, honey, please. Touch your cunt."

The woman's words reached the girl from a distance. She closed her eyes and found the swollen slit, shivering violently from the mere touch.

"No, no, honey, please. That won't do at all," the woman said with a laugh, clacking her tongue. "Never close your eyes.

"Look at me!"

The eyes flew open. They were shining with moisture.

The woman leaned forward, whispering: "Now find your clit, darling. Roll it softly, tease it out of its hood, mmmmmm, yes, make it slide and slither under your probing fingers.

"How does that make you feel, slut?"

The chocolate irises trembled, releasing the pent-up tears. Then they turned up and up until there was only white left.

The woman knew the girl was coming hard, and on the brink of fainting. She reached out and cupped her face for support. Then she kissed the drooling lips hard, blocking a moan with her plunging tongue.

The girl shook with climax.

Then she sagged lifelessly into the woman's embrace. Holding her for almost a minute, she smiled into the flushed face, until a faint stirring signaled the girl's return to reality.

"Oh, my god," she gasped -- groaning.

"Welcome back, honey," the woman whispered.

Then, as the girl looked around, seeing her increased audience, she repeated: "Oh my god!" in quite a different tone and volume. She at once hugged her nakedness, mumbling a few more desperate words to her deity.