From the Corridors of Cyberia

From the corridors of Cyberia.

Seven women, seven stories.

Dzjinna.

I met Jenn in a chatroom. She told me she was in her thirties, blond and tall. Of course, many women in chatrooms are blond and tall and in their thirties; some of them are even women. I've always thought, however, that it was beside the point to doubt any information at all in chatrooms. Cyberia has its own reality. That is why you should never meet your chat partner in so called real life, send videos or even get pictures. (By the way, my name is Angique, short for Angélique. I was a girl in her twenties back then, black hair, green eyes and a skin of Gothic paleness. All of it true, of course.)

So, back to Jenn. Inside the 'Net she was real to me. I grew fond of her, calling her Dzjinna. Of course, as you should know, words were the only thing that counted in chatrooms, as words were the only thing we had in there. Words were the paint of the chatrooms; talented people could picture an entire world with them. Jenn was a great painter; I wasn't bad either. Let's say, these stories are our galleries of paintings.

***

(October 16 th, 02.04 a. m.)

Does she remember? Does she remember what remembering is? Is there, anywhere in her candy cotton mind, even the slightest shred of memory left? Ah yes... at night... or is it night? In her dreams she sees floating memories. Sh sees images, colors, sounds. A blond woman she sees, tall, well dressed. Heels clicking on marble. Mirrors, elevators. High glass walls looking out on sky scraping horizons. Are they her memories or just shapes and colors? Is there even a past, a tomorrow?

It is hard enough to grasp the present; hard enough to handle these feelings and emotions, this constant arousal. Electric currents jab at her, making her skin ripple, her spine arch. There always is the hunger, the need to taste the white slimy cream. To swallow it and paint her face with it. To feel it spurt over her tits and belly. The scent of it, the substance.

Her weak hand claws to reach the edge, the eternal edge, oh god get me there... there. She is a shivering mass of jelly, begging for release. She aches for a volcanic explosion into the eternal bliss of oblivion. But the eyes say no. Noooo, sweet slut, the eyes say, the emerald jewels, guardians of denial. Nooooo...

(October 18 th, 04.12 p. m.)

The huge door creaks open; a black silhouette stands out against the gray, cool afternoon light. Inside the stables warm air curls around the motionless figure that has come in from the cold. Tiny wisps of breath escape the slit in a tight black leather mask. Only red shining lips are visible as they whisper "Dzjinnaaah..."

A shard of gray autumn light spreads as the door opens wider, reaching the iron cage and streaming inside, where it engulfs a milk white, curled up body in the middle of the cage. A naked woman lies in a web of chains that run from iron bracelets to large rings pegged into the gray concrete floor. There's a bowl beside her, empty but for a few crumbs; another bowl has been licked clean. There still is no movement from the tied woman, even when the masked woman's whisper insists...

"Dzjinnaaaahh..."

Is she fast asleep, locked in a dreamless void, exhausted from the horrible ordeals that seem to visit her so relentlessly lately? Is she spent from the strange and alien orgasms that wreck her body, induced by such surprising agents as pain and humiliation? Or is she still in shocked stupor because her proud golden hair has been taken? She has been left here naked and exposed, totally defenseless and open to whomever or whatever fancies her body... and her soul.

"Dzjinnaaaahhh... why don't you give in?"

The leather clad woman takes soundless steps towards the cage. She bends like a cat, her covered eyes hungrily taking in the vulnerable form. She crouches towards the pale fetus in the bluish splash of light.

"Why do you hold back from me what is mine, Dzjinna? I know all about the eager way you masturbate to no avail when I am away. Your fingers pull at your nipples until they stand out aching. You spread your shaven cunt. You hump your swollen clit against your impatient hand. Why, Dzjinna? It's useless. I told you not to. I instructed you not to. I trusted you..."

(October 24th, 07.18 a. m.)

Well-heeled and highly polished patent leather mules disturb the dust and straw on the floor, making them swirl in golden clouds as the black dressed girl slips into the barn. The soft sigh of her silk gown mixes with the click of heels. Until they stop.

The lock's chain rattles; the iron-bar door whines open. The girl in black silk walks to the sobbing woman who's kneeling naked on the floor. She sinks to her heels, her gloved hand cupping the bald skull to turn the face towards her. Long lashes cast their shadow over tearstained cheeks. Softly, a satin thumb wipes away the spilt moisture.

"You'll be punished, my love. Oh certainly, again and again. But not now. Not now. Right now, you must be thirsty... let me get your bowl."

The girl rises holding the empty bowl. She stands immobile for a while more, contemplating the silent form beneath her before turning on her heels and walking to one of the horses' stables. A soft whinnying welcomes her as she opens the half door. She calms the black stallion inside by patting its back, her voice sweet when she talks to him. She holds his face, murmuring into his ear. Then she bends down and reaches under his belly

***

Thanking the horse with a kiss on its soft nose, she takes the bowl back to the chained woman in her cage. The woman rocks slowly on her knees, bald head down, eyes closed, hands into pathetic fists. The black dressed girl crouches beside her, showing her the bowl and its steaming content; the woman doesn't seem to react. A soft hand is propped under her chin to make her watch how the girl pours drops of a bluish liquid from a tiny bottle into the fragrant slime, stirring it with a finger.

"Slake your thirst, sweet Dzjinna. Drink this heavenly broth so it may sooth your parched throat, and your aching soul." She presses the bowl's rim against the girl's closed lips. "You refuse this nectar I give you, love?" The naked woman sulks in silence. She looks down, big tears running down her cheeks.

Then the girl in the evening gown takes a bare nipple between her finger and thumb. She pinches it hard and turns it to the right sharply, making the woman scream. Quickly she pours half of the bowl's content into the open mouth and closes it immediately. Stroking the arched neck, she makes her swallow. A deep and miserable moan rises from the naked woman's throat. It bobs and gulps as the warm cream slides down into her stomach.

The black clad girl almost pushes her face into the woman's, looking hard into the misted eyes of her pupil.

"Say 'thank you, Master'. Say thank you very much to the lovely stallion... Say it now... I want to hear it." But the silence is only broken by a soft, rising sob. A sharp slap sounds as a hand strikes the bald woman's face, leaving a red blotch on a cheek.

"Say it!!"

Almost inaudible and on a breath of sperm the girl mumbles her thanks. Then she slumps back to the dirty floor and once more cries her heart out.

(November 9th, 01.05 a. m.)

A swift shadow weaves in and out of even darker shadows. Like a puff of smoke, it slides out of black corners into even blacker niches until it reaches tall gray doors. They open just a few inches to suck the ghost in, and in the dark canyon between ancient walls the deep silence is undisturbed again, except for the mournful cry of a distant night bird.

Inside, the half-moon's liquid light streams into a barred space, uncovering the giant shape of a black creature sleeping, and the pale form of a woman hugging its side. Her arms are stretched upwards, her naked body sinking into the furry animal. A hound it is, a giant Dane.

The naked woman looks pale and fragile in the pouring moonlight, almost like a girl; her skull is bald and shining, giving her sleeping face the sweet vulnerability of a child. Around her white throat a leather collar hugs her skin tightly. As her left arm lays stretched upwards, one breast squeezes itself free, a pink nipple kissing the moonlit straw.

She sleeps; her eyes are closed, but the sheer transparency of her lids betrays the rapid movement of her dreaming eyes, as do the tiny, puppy like whimpers that form inside her throat. Silver droplets of saliva escape her mouth, dancing on fragile, sleep-spun threads.

The black shadow creeps closer. A narrow white hand with red nailed fingers reaches through the bars; they can't touch the sleeping couple. Shallow, fast-breathing sounds float into the silence. Then the girl like woman stirs in her sleep, her hand travelling down along the dark shining pelt towards her face. Her fingers reach her eyes and cheeks; her pouting mouth now searches for her thumb. She greedily takes it in and starts sucking, a slow, sweet smile blooming in the corners of her mouth. A muffled moan of pleasure rises.

The leather shadow throws a soundless kiss through the bars; then it slips out the way it came.

(November 13th, 05.20 p. m.)

Reclining in the smoothly rounded leather club chair I watch the autumn storms raging against tall windowpanes. Eyes half closed I see the world through the haze of my lashes, so snug, so entirely relaxed. I feel the blaze of the fire caress my body, right through the blood red sheen of my silken robe.

I sip a cool, dry mouthful of Pinot Gris, and turn the glass in my fingers as I look over its rim. Isn't my world perfect, I wonder, watching the two lovely creatures sharing the room with me. One, huge and dark and furry, its broad head resting between impressive paws, flat on the oriental carpet. The other creature is pale and naked... smooth and soft. Its sleek body stretches alongside the hound, its fingers scratching its head. It whispers sweet words as it kisses the wet nose.

Have I ever seen deeper and more innocent affection between two so different creatures, I muse. The way she touches him, so easy, so natural. The way he succumbs to her soft and sweet caresses. I knew she overwhelms him as soon as he scents her presence. Of course, he has been trained that way, but never did I see him get this protective, not even with bitches of his own kind.

I also know how easily her heat is ignited lately, flaring up as soon as she is around his vigorous maleness. How her nostrils widen, her pupils dilate when he is brought to her. It seems impossible for her not to touch him; impossible not to press her swollen nipples into his fur, not to caress the steel muscles that roll so easily under the shining pelt.

Oh yes, I know how close she is right now, how even the pink skin around her nipples swell into aching tightness. How her hidden cunt lips strain against the smooth leather that guards her entrance, making it agonizingly impossible to touch her screaming clit. If she'd spread her thighs now, I'm sure her moisture would seep from the edges, running down the tender, skin where loin and leg unite. Sweetest hell it must be for her, forever tottering on the brink of ecstasy but never allowed to cross it.

I say her given name. My heart leaps when her eyes meet mine. A sudden wave of guileless affection fills their blue oceans to the rim and engulf me. Oh my God, sweet girl, how far have you come in such a short time, and how deep does your undemanding love reach into my soul.

I watch the bald skull, the open childlike face, the leather-circled throat, the almost transparent paleness of her skin. It contrasts dramatically with the narrow but effective leather straps that mark my dominance and her submission, closing the gate to her garden.

"I think it is about time the world should see how far we've come, sweet li'l bitch," I say. A sudden flare of excitement washes over her face.

"Oh yes, yesss Mistress... thank you, thank you! You hear that, Brynn? Mistress is proud of us and wants the world to know..."

She crawls on all fours over to me, clutching my calves and kissing the painted nails on my toes.

Bovenkant formulier

Onderkant formulier

***

Ishtar.

Ishtar wasn't just a mere woman that I met in a chatroom; she was divine. She styled herself after the famous whore-goddess of Babylon also known as Ishtar or Astarte. In Cyberia we can invent the place we live in, any place; it just takes inventiveness and some verbal furnishing. Hers was magnificent; she lived in the Hanging Gardens, one of the Seven Wonders of the antique world. This story is about how we met.

***

The day was hot, the sun a harsh mistress sending her scorching rays down on me like so many slashes of a well-aimed whip. Why had I left the hotel's air-conditioned lobby at this godless hour of the day? Why hadn't I called a cab to take me to the nice and cool café I intended to visit? Why roam the airless maze of a souk in this foreign city? I lost my way after three corners, getting sweaty from the heat and the rude catcalls of mustachioed men and cheeky little boys. Why did I wear what I wore?

The doors were huge and old, their bleached wood riddled with spikes in an ancient pattern. They were set in a ten-foot-high red-ochre wall, crowned with layers of lushly green vines. Tall palm trees rose from behind, promising shadow. One of the doors stood ajar. I smelled cool water and heard the excited twitter of exotic birds. Forgetting everything about curiosity and the cat, I pushed the door open and crossed the dusty sill. Ah, the coolness on my face, the moist air on my skin.

The garden was different from any garden I'd ever seen. Maybe the word garden wasn't even appropriate. Through the gate I stepped on a balcony of sorts, or maybe a narrow terrace. It was the uppermost ledge of many lower ones that were connected by stairs winding down through a veritable jungle of plants, bushes and trees. The stairs connected each terrace until they reached a pool that shimmered in a deep distance.

Careful to keep my balance on the slippery steps I wound my way down to the pool, my ears filled with the sound of humming insects and twittering birds. Water gurgled, my skin was kissed by cool, moist air, my nostrils flared from spicy herbs and sweet-smelling flowers. My heart raced as blood rushed to my head, pounding in my ears. And all the time there were the almost orgasmic squeals and twitters from way down below, turning the garden into a resounding bird cage.

Swapping at mosquitos, my pale limbs gleaming with sweat, I finally reached what seemed the lowest tiers. A sparkling pool showed through leaves and flowers. I reached out to clear my line of view, and my breathing stopped. Beyond the pool on a flat slab of stone, next to a babbling little waterfall, wet, shining bodies lay entwined in the oldest of embraces. Three girls I counted, very young and completely naked. One was on her back, arching her body to the eager tongue of a lover who, at the same time, had her crotch invaded by a third girl that sat on the face of the first, arching creature.

"Aren't they sweet?" a low, breathy voice said, close to my ear, accompanied by a rustle of tiny metallic bells. It made my heart skip a beat; I almost lost my footing.

The owner of the voice was in her forties, I guessed, with black, curly hair, her skin a dark hue of olive. She was almost as naked as the girls. A ring in her left nostril held up a thin veil of gold thread, studded with tiny bells. It hung like a transparent curtain before her lower face, attached to multiple sets of rings in both her ears. Like a glittering underscore, it drew all attention to her dark eyes, made up abundantly in the ancient Egyptian way. Her long, erect nipples were pierced with gold rings that held the ends of strings of gold drapery between her mature breasts. The same material hung like a filigree fig leaf before her crotch, held up by fragile strings across her hips. Her arms and legs sparkled with bracelets and jewelry. Her hand with gold-taloned fingers rested on my wrist.

"Sorry if I startled you," she said. The flimsy gold curtain moved with her breath, causing another echo of sweet metallic music. Her fingertips were cool on my skin; I didn't know what to say. On the slab of rock one of the girls cried out in climax, followed by another. Through the gold, chiming curtain I saw a smile.

"I... I...," I said, a thousand miles away from my self-assured self. The woman nodded and once again smiled, tapping my wrist.

"I understand," she said. The rippling curtain stretched her voice into a tingling rustle again, like the silver tail of a comet. "I'm such a poor hostess, am I not, tendresse?" she went on, stepping even closer, mingling the jungle's fragrance with her deep, musky scent. Her face came very close now, jangling jewelry and all. Her dark eyes held a sudden sparkle, her hands cupped my face, adding confusion to self-consciousness. "Here you are, all hot and uncomfortable. Why don't you take a dip into my refreshing little pool?" Stepping back, she turned to the water, opening her arms in an inviting gesture.

The pool was tempting; dark and mysterious where the shrubs and trees cast their shadow, sparkling like silver sequins where the sun kissed its surface. Every square inch of my sweaty body begged for it; every pore gasped to be blessed by its sweet, cold kiss. But could I, here, now, among strangers? Naked strangers, to be sure, but...

The woman smiled; then she clapped her hands, making all her bracelets and baubles ring. Wet splashes resounded as all three water nymphs dove from their slab of rock into the pool, swimming my way as they squealed excitedly. In a ball of gleaming limbs, they clawed their way up the terrace, sending a moist cloud of splattering raindrops my way. Their hands followed, fingers undoing buttons and tearing clingy wet fabric off my limbs, until I stood naked in a veritable bird cage of squeaking girls. They touched my pale skin with their dark, tanned fingertips, eager eyes taking in my body. Hands were everywhere, on my tits, my belly and my ass cheeks. Moist bodies glided along mine. Young firm titties, lips and even tongues slid over my skin. My body ignited with arousal; I could hardly breathe. Then, like a teeming swarm of naked limbs, we all fell into the pool. Cool, cool water closed over my head.

One can swim with dolphins; one can swim with seals and whales, but believe me, it is nothing compared to swimming with three naked girls in a secret oasis under the glaring sun of a sleepy desert town. Their cool, slick bodies slid by like golden eels, the electric variety. They held me and caressed me, plunging and diving around me with their slippery thighs and slithering bellies. There was a green world under the surface full of muffled noises, breaking open whenever my head returned to the sparkling sunlight and the twitters of my companions. I saw glimpses of the woman on the terrace before being pulled down again. Flashes of her standing, watching, as her one hand pinched a nipple, and the other rubbed her slit vehemently.

Of course, we ended on the moist, warm slab of rock beside the waterfall. And of course, I was overwhelmed by tongues and fingers. Wet kisses turned into open mouthed invasions; fingers caressed my slit and my asshole, followed by slobbering lips and probing tongues. Finally, I just laid there, absorbing the sun and each and every one of their attentions. I became a will-less, shivering heap of jelly, feeling as if each of my screaming pores had a hidden, tiny clit.

How does one orgasm in such a situation? One doesn't. Or to be sure, one doesn't stop climaxing, which might be the same. At some moment, my body must have started exploding, and it must have stopped doing that at another, but I never knew. Maybe I stopped being conscious. I guess my body took over. I kept feeling every touch, every emotion. I laughed and cried, sobbing through incredible sensations. I sucked on nipples and tongues, clits and fingers and toes. I squirted and pissed; I felt like a volcano spitting lava until the last searing flames left my body and I just laid there, shuddering, exhausted, empty. From a green darkness came a voice, breathy, hoarse and wrapped in a cloud of soft jingling.

"I am Ishtar," it said. "Issshhhtaarrr, the Whore Goddess of ancient Babylon." I opened my eyes, staring into a halo of glaring sunshine. There was a shadow at its center that seemed to produce the words. "The Hanging Gardens are my temple," the voice went on. "Lust and Carnal Sin are my trade, my sweet little whores my priestesses." The jingle-jangle that accompanied her words became louder, as did her intoxicating perfume. The shadow grew until it covered everything. Tiny particles tickled my face; then a wet tongue licked my lips, my nose, my eyes. Everything went dark.

***

As I came to, the first thing I felt was a warm stone wall. The first thing I saw, was a dusty, sunbaked street. I knew the street, as far as one might recognize one from the other in this maze of a town. I rose stiffly, all of my limbs heavy and painful, my head a swarm of bees.

The wall I had been sitting against was painted a reddish ochre. There was no porch, no ancient door. As I looked up, I saw no vines, no palms, just stone and a glaring sky. The heat was oppressive, I must find some shade, a cool drink, I thought. A young man asked if I was all right; he had to repeat it before I understood his guttural English. I tried to smile and nodded. Walking like a zombie I crossed the street, turning one last time to see the blind wall, the empty sky.

Unexpected tears ran down my cheeks.

Kristie.

Kristie was one of the earliest girls I met in the shady halls of Cyberia. She was a waitress from Florida, she said, and a fitness freak. She had the curiosity of a child and the absolute recklessness that comes with youthful energy. She might not be the best writer, but she was in for everything as you might see in the few stories I already published about her in here.

The day had been long and filled to the brim with sweet Italian spring. Now the last rays of the sinking sun played along the top of the summer room's walls. The rest of it was already in shadows. Angique lay on one elbow on a chaise longue, sipping espresso from a tiny cup, a burgundy silk robe wrapped around her freshly showered body. Kristie knelt naked at her feet. She hugged Angique's legs, her blonde head resting against them. Her skin held the fresh glow from a day in the sun, shining with a layer of scented oil.

***

That afternoon, the two of them had been down at the lakeshore. Arnold, the chauffeur, had filled the hold of the elegant, classic Riva speedboat with a basket containing the ingredients for an unforgettable picnic.

He took them to one of the tiny islands in the lake, and as soon as he left, they both tore the flimsy summer dresses off their bodies and plunged naked into the cool, deep water. Kristie was a great swimmer; she was like a dolphin, speeding her strong, sleek body effortlessly through the clear waters. Angique wasn't. She was content to be able to thrash around, just keeping her pale mermaid's body from sinking. Swimming had never appealed to her; even the few humble strokes she'd mastered had cost her years of suppressing fear and gaining control.

But right now, she was glad she had not given up. She loved to feel the girl's slick body slide along her back, the dainty hands teasing. Cool wet titties fondled hers, and yes... few things beat the immense pleasure of kissing a wet, shivering face, hugging like mating nymphs below a summer sky.

They rested under the awning Arnold had built for them, nibbling fresh focaccio bread with olives, lettuce and tuna. They sipped cold bubbly water.

Kristie rested her wet blonde head in Angique's lap, murmuring how happy she was. Angique's fingertip turned the girl's dripping hair into tiny circlets. She said: "Don't you miss your friends and family?" The girl kept silent; Angique felt her body tighten against her thighs. She understood that the sweet thing was snared by a dilemma. "It is alright, honey... just be honest," she added softly.

Kristie's face turned up. Then she said: "Yes, I miss them. Especially my mother and my sis. But I have you now." Angique smiled into the clear hazel eyes.

"You don't have me, pet. I have you." A blush darkened Kristie's face. She let her head hang, but Angique took it, pulling it up and pressing a deep kiss on her mouth. Then she said: "I have you and I intend to keep you. Is that alright with you, li'l darling?"

Kristie rose to her knees. She hugged the black-haired woman, hard and intense. Then she once more looked into the emerald eyes and pronounced each word with clear separation: "My sweet Angique, I love you. Take me to be yours forever." A slow tear left her eye.

Later, as evening fell, Angique remembered the moment. Again, she felt the lump in her throat, making it impossible for her to answer at once. The sun in those innocent eyes had swept her off her cool self-assured feet. The wide-open acceptance shocked her, the total absence of guile. She felt herself shiver in the girl's embrace, only able to answer with a kiss.

After minutes they separated. Angique shook herself and let out a nervous laugh. "Oh my, sweet girl, what can I say?" She blew a strand of black hair out of her face. Then she scrambled to her feet, wading over to a rock halfway into the water. She sat on it and stared over the water, her bare back turned to Kristie.

Kristie's eyes followed her with intense eagerness, a slow doubt creeping into them. After a minute she rose too and walked to the woman on the rock. Her hand crawled towards the thigh that rested on the stone surface. The moment she touched skin, Angique turned towards her, startling Kristie with her sad gaze. It made the emeralds darken.

"Should I not have said that?" she whispered. Angique caressed her cheek. She traced her features with a fingertip and shook her head.

"Oh no, darling. You must always tell me what your heart insists on. But I have to warn you." Again, a silence fell, only broken by the little lapping sounds of the water against the rock and the far away cry of a bird.

The green eyes cleared; Angique seemed to have made a decision. She slid back on the rock and plied her legs into a lotus seat. "Come sit with me, angel," she begged. The blond girl climbed easily onto the stone, mirroring her position.

"Kristie, today is not only a most beautiful Italian spring day, it is also the day when sweet golden Kristie made the decision to change her life forever."

The blond girl's eyebrows rose. Angique took her face between her cool hands, staring deeply into her eyes. "You may decide, Kristie darling, to be mine, but your life will turn into a rough and bumpy road. Walking it with me can be a cruel and thorny thing." Kristie's gaze never wavered.

"I love you," she said.

"Yes, darling, I know," Angique answered, her voice almost a whisper. "But do you know who it is you love? And what price you have to pay for it?"

"No, I don't know," Kristie said. "But why should I? You will be with me, Mistress. There is no reason for me to be afraid as long as you are with me."

Angique sat stunned. The spring breeze played with the now drying hair of the girl in front of her. A glowing halo danced around her tanned face, framing the most serene expression she had ever seen. She took both hands in hers.

"Why are you so sure, so calm, honey?" Angique asked. "We only met two weeks ago. After just one day at my apartment, I had to leave. You arrived only yesterday; how could you decide about your life so soon?"

Still the hazel eyes did not blink.

"I love you; you are my Mistress," she said. "Whatever you decide for me will be my future. It will be as long as I can be with you."

"Listen, Kristie," Angique said, suppressing a sigh. "I have been cruelly beaten up. I have been abused and altered when I was a child. As a result, I have no understanding of the concept of love. Instead, I harbor a void in my soul that has to be filled. I have been turned into a vampire of emotions. Do you understand? I lust for love. I cannot create it myself."

The blonde girl squirmed with her bare bottom on the stone, but she never wavered. Her fingers lay in Angique's hands, calm, quiet.

"One day I'll tell you how I came to be like this," Angique went on. "For now, I only want you to know who I am. I need you to know how I regard the girls I train."

At the word "train" Kristie's eyes lightened up. "Train?" she repeated. "Yes, Kristie. I am a true Mistress. I not just assume the title to make sex interesting. Any girl who calls me Mistress should know that she is a slave. She can't be a mere sub or a temporary plaything, she is a slave for life. My slave. Do you understand, Kristie?"

After a short silence she said: "I understand, M... mistress."

Angique smiled at the short hesitation.

"I hear you understand me, darling. Now please, this is all very important, but also very abstract. Tonight, I want to give you a first taste of what it means to be mine. I shall ask you to please and service me in a special way. You might not be able to do it. It might prove to be beyond your limits, and I would underst..."

Kristie's hand rose. It covered Angique's mouth, so she had to stop in mid-sentence. Kristie looked at the black-haired woman with frowned eyebrows.

"There is no limit to my love for you, Angique. Whatever pleasure you want me to give, I shall give gladly." Angique took the hand in hers, guiding it down to her breast.

"Oh my..." she whispered. "Oh my, Kristie. I do appreciate this so much, but please girl, be careful what you say." Kristie took the other hand. She guided it to her lovely firm and golden tit. Angique felt the nipple harden against her palm as the girl said:

"Mistress, I don't know what came over me after I met you. I always was an uncertain girl. I never really knew what I wanted, where I should go. I trained my body like a mad woman, but it did not make me strong. I stayed very insecure. All that has left me since I am with you. You seem to soak up my doubts with only a glance of your sweet eyes. Every word you say to me gives me purpose, every minute with you is a minute in heaven. Who wants to lose heaven, even if others might call it hell?"

She smiled her sweet open smile, pressing Angique's hand harder into her bosom. "I am certain I shall pleasure you, Madam. I shall tonight and every day to come. Now please, may I kiss you?"

They kissed under the incredible sky in the middle of wonderful Lago Maggiore. When it stopped, Kristie's eyes were glued to the face of the woman she knew would always be her Mistress. She mirrored her smile. Angique doubted that the source of that smile would be the same as hers.

***

The shadows had deepened; the last golden gleam left the high bay windows. Finally, a perfect day made way for a young and promising night. "Tell me, darling Kristie, does dressing up excite you at all?" Kristie raised her head with a surprised look on her face. She wasn't a fashion-oriented girl at all, preferring to run and swim and work out. When she wasn't into sports, she dressed much like the way she was when she arrived at Villa d' Este: T-shirt, jeans, sneakers. And of course, there was the silly uniform at the restaurant.

"Go, run and take a long and careful shower, darling. Then return to my bedroom." Angique rose and slapped the girl's bottom. Kristie jumped to get to her bathroom. Angique's eyes followed her; then she stretched her body and walked to the hall where she climbed the grand stone stairs. She turned left at the top to find the entrance to her bedroom.

It was spacious; it was also pleasantly decorated. Two huge windows gave out on the lake below. The ceiling was high and vaulted. The dominant colors were a tender light blue and golden yellow. The same blue could be found in a richer version on the vast bed at the center; the yellow returned in the twelve feet high curtains.

Across from the bed hung an impressive vanity-mirror over a gilded make-up table. To the right a door opened to a large marble bathroom; another door opened to a huge walk-in closet.

Angique sat down in front of the mirror. She carefully cleaned her face of the light make-up she had applied after they returned from their picnic. She was thoroughly concentrated on cleaning an eye, so the soft kiss on her neck surprised her. She looked up and saw a totally ravishing Kristie, wrapped in a white terry cloth robe, her hair still dripping from the shower.

She rose and took the girl in her arms, planting velvet kisses all over her freshly showered face.

"Mmmm, you smell lovely, little animal," she breathed. Then she opened the robe to expose a flushed body. "And you look delicious, too." She kissed one blushing tit. Kristie beamed. Stepping back, she made a slow pirouette, her arms wide.

"Follow me, pretty butterfly," Angique said. She went to the walk-in closet. "But first dry your hair. You can use the blower in my bathroom."

Inside the closet, Angique went to a drawer. She took a few items out of it, spreading them on a low table at the center. They were made of thin and supple leather in a dark olive color. The construction was very intricate, consisting mostly of straps and silver metal buckles.

When the blower next door stopped, she left the table. Going to get the girl, she commended the cloud of golden hair that floated around her sweet face. She took her hand and led her to a stool in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

"Look how lovely you are," she whispered in her ear, one hand cupping a full, naked tit, crowned with a stiffening nipple. Kristie moaned. She spread her thighs to display her shaven pussy. It looked swollen and flushed, no doubt from her stay in the shower. She must have shaved it once again to make sure she would be perfectly smooth. "Alright now, honey. Close your gorgeous eyes."

The girl obeyed. Angique took the black silk blindfold she held behind her back, placing it over the eyes, tying a knot behind her head. Kristie's body tightened when she did so. Angique told her to relax and trust her. The girl immediately relaxed, a small sigh escaping her mouth.

"Now please stand and walk to where I take you," Angique said. She led the blindfolded girl to a place next to a low table, where she took a small slender vial off its top. Part of its golden content poured into her hand. "Smell, Kristie," she said, holding the hand under her nose. The girl sniffed and sighed her appreciation. Then Angique let both hands slide over her shoulders. They went down the arms and to the tips of her fingers. The oil spread a sweet glow and an even sweeter scent. "Oil?" Kristie whispered. "Virgin oil," Angique answered, chuckling. She spread more on the girl's back, her loins and thighs, massaging the skin slow and thoroughly, but light as a feather. When she had oiled all parts of the tanned body, she came to the breasts, kneading them with extra attention for the nipples. It made the girl moan and squirm.

"Spread your legs, darling," Angique said. Then she started to rub the oil into her pouting cunt lips, the lovely angel wings she was so proud of. "Oh my, you are wet, you, sexy animal," she smiled, slipping two fingers into the girl's cunt, making her pant. "Now, please listen," Angique resumed after she kissed the shining slit. "When inside this Villa, darling, I want you to be naked, shaven and oiled like this. Always, do you understand?" The girl nodded." Repeat it, love", Angique said.

"When in Villa I must be naked always. I must shave and oil myself like this," Kristie repeated with a little girl's voice. It made Angique suck in her breath. Oh God, she thought, I'll make you perfect, sweet slut. You are so good.

Angique turned the stool. Kristie now sat with her back to the mirror. "Let me make you even more beautiful, little doll," she said, and she took the scarf from her eyes. The girl blinked, then she smiled. Angique started to make up her face and mouth. Her cheeks were dabbed with rouge to give her tan a deeper glow and bring out her cheekbones. She also got her nipples rouged, and the edges of her baby bare slit.

Finally, Angique applied lip-gloss, making her mouth seem fuller.

"All right now, sweetheart," she said, carefully returning the blindfold. "Please stand and raise your arms. Stretch them to the side. Then spread your legs about two feet."

As Kristie followed this up, Angique took the outfit of leather straps, burying her face in it. She deeply inhaled the scent, then she pushed it into the face of the blindfolded girl. "Smell this, Kristie. Smell the scent of leather at the center of your dark, private dungeon; it is the essence of your bondage. Fill your sweet head with it. Every time you smell this again, it will go straight to your aching little cunt, making your juices flow. Do you hear, Kristie? Inhale and know forever that this is the scent of your masters. Smell it. You'll feel your legs weaken. Your nipples will harden. It is leather, darling. It is sweet slick, fragrant leather, the fabric of your destiny."

She gave the girl a minute to inhale, watching her shiver. Then she spread her hands, letting the chaos of straps and buckles sink over her blindfolded head until it rested on her shoulders. She pulled at strap after strap and closed each buckle. Finally, the shapeless bunch took form on the girl's body, tying her in from neck to crotch, then down her thighs and calves. The tits were left free, but the straps right under them pushed them up and out; they were shaped like little balconies of leather.

When Angique tied the leather over her chest and belly, she heard the girl wince. Kristie breathed hard, the straps strangled her ribcage and abdomen. Angique turned her around, starting to strap in her arms and shoulders.

As she finished doing the back, she kissed the girl in the neck before going down to check her lower body. She was careful to keep both entrances open and accessible.

Strapping the thighs, the leather slipped on the insides. She saw how wet the skin was, and she knew the girl must have been coming profusely. With a long, pointed tongue she followed the liquid up to its source. Then she entered the swollen lips, finally touching the hard red pearl. It made Kristie collapse in yet another massive orgasm. She sank to her knees, howling as she released her pent-up emotions.

Angique let her rest for a bit before taking off the blindfold. She cleaned up the thighs and pussy with a soft warm towel, inhaling the scent deeply before throwing it into the laundry basket. Then she took two extremely high-heeled mules. She slipped them on the girl's feet and closed the straps with tiny padlocks.

Kristie finally opened her sweet doll's eyes, at once apologizing for her selfish behavior. Angique stopped her by gagging her mouth with a silver-colored rubber ball, tying it around her head. Pushing the girl to arms' length, she admired the signal red O of her stretched lips around the shining silver. Then she slipped a tight leather skullcap over her head, pulling the blond hair through an opening at the top to create a high, golden ponytail.

Angique took the girl by the shoulder, leading her in front of the mirror. Kristie's eyes widened, the only possible way to express her stunned reaction to what she saw. Her entire body was wrapped in a maze of leather straps, accentuating her firm, round breasts. Her athletic flesh was packed into a glorious display of bondage. The silver ball stretched her mouth, giving her a permanent expression of panic and amazement.

Angique then led Kristie back to the vanity mirror in her bedroom, helping her master the heels that were so much higher than she ever wore before. She let her sit down on the stool in front of the table, her back forced straight and erect by her harness. Her tits jutted out towards her reflection.

Angique sat down beside her and started to make the girl's eyes up in a dramatic and expressive way. Green and silvery shadows matched her outfit, black lines of kohl put drama into her eyes. Fat mascara lengthened her lashes. Then she kissed the girl's nose-tip and made her stand in front of the mirror. She walked slowly around her.

"Ah, my sweet darling, you look so sensuous. Just seeing you makes my pussy drip, mmmmm." Again, Angique circled around her, touching her here and there. She hummed little satisfied nothings. "Come," she said. "Let me walk you down the dangerous stairs. I'll turn you into the sweetest adornment the summer room has ever had."

She smiled. Then she assisted the girl to scale the stone stairs on her neck breaking platform heels, leading her into the summer room. Night by now had engulfed the terrace; it turned the windows into perfect mirrors to reflect them.

Taking Kristie to a spot next to the fireplace, she told her to stand still, eye to eye with her reflection in the windows. She herself walked over to the wall and pressed a button. A heavy chain sank with a metallic tingling out of the ceiling until it was right over the head of the leather-bound girl. She looked up, her eyes following the hook at the end of the chain until it almost hit her face.

"Present me your wrists, sweet pet." Angique told her. Kristie did so. Angique kissed the insides, then she clicked two small metal hooks together. They were attached to the wrist-straps of her outfit. "Now raise your arms over your head."

Angique slid the hook through the joined rings; then she pushed the button to start the chain. It pulled the girls arms up until she stood stretched. Her exposed breasts were pushed out of the maze of leather straps. Her face radiated not just artificial panic.

Angique walked over and stood before her, placing her hands on the exposed tits. Then she pushed her face into the soft curve of Kristie's neck, where it joined her shoulder.

"You look so fantastic, sweet thing. My cunt weeps for you."

She searched in a pocket of her robe and produced a tiny black leather jewelry-box. She opened it and took out two small silver objects, connected by a fragile silver chain. She kissed one of the objects. Then she stood in front of Kristie and kissed her left nipple. She sucked on it and pulled at it with her teeth. The girl moaned through the ball, a shiver running down her limbs.

The object had the shape of a comic little frog. It had a large mouth that opened as Angique pressed it at the back. She slid the mouth over the extended nipple. Then she let it close with a snap. The ball muffled the girl's scream. Still, it rang out clear enough. Angique kissed her fingertip. She laid it on the ball gag. "Shhhh, sweet darling," she said. Then she took the other nipple into her mouth. She sucked it strongly into the curl of her tongue.

The second clamp only produced a shiver from the girl, and a prolonged groan. Angique tugged softly on the chain. It made the clamped nipples stretch. Then she leaned in to kiss Kristie on her cheek. At the same moment she cupped her exposed cunt. A finger slipped inside.

"Oh my... her body likes this... hmmmm. Soooo wet she is indeed," Angique said. She sugared her voice, making it drip with honey.

Then she tied the black silk blindfold over the moist eyes again, and, after giving a last tug at the chain, she left the girl standing in her private, silent darkness.

***

Brigitte.

Brigitte was from Quebec, Canada, and she was special, partly because she spoke French, but mostly because she had this ambiguous relation with the lure of masochism. I met her while training Kristie. Standing in the background, she 'bit her lower lip', as she said, and stepped forward to hesitantly offer her body - and soul. Quite a while ago I already published a few stories about her, but there is more. There is always more with ma douce, incroyable Brigitte.

The tires gnawed at the white pebbles as the limousine came to a crunching halt. The silent heat of high summer hung like silk drapes from the hazy sky; even the eternal choir of crickets had been silenced. Age-old stone-oaks could not find a breeze to voice their whisper.

The air trembled over the hood of the car. The driver opened his door, a whiff of conditioned coolness hissing from the interior. Walking around, he opened the passenger's door, reaching inside to retract a pale female hand, followed by a slim, bare arm.

The woman stepping out was totally naked, the glaring sun polishing her skin. An absolute absence of hair enhanced her nakedness. Her head was bald, shining with dazzling whiteness. Her pale breasts reflected the sun while her hips and thighs formed a glowing halo around her shaven cunt.

She was Brigitte, but then again, she wasn't. The slick, shining nakedness turned her into a statue, a distant object of breathtaking, beauty. She was like the faraway summit of a snow-capped mountain, and although her lips trembled, she stood absolutely motionless, keeping her blue, unshaken gaze fixed on the open door. Memories crept sluggishly into her mind, taking her back to the day it all went so stupidly wrong.

She remembered breakfast on the little golden table in her bedroom somewhere up there in this wonderful Villa. There had been fragrant tea. There had been sweet buns and bitter jam, a giant glass of freshly squeezed fruit. At the center she'd found a tiny pink rose in a glass, so sweet. She'd inhaled the divine aroma of freshly baked bread. All had been bright, all had shone with early morning after a night of perfect love. My God, was she in paradise or still sleeping?

She rose to get out of bed, at once feeling the new heaviness in her bowels. It had sat there all night. Somehow her muscles automatically tightened to keep it in. With a very tender gait she reached the toilet and relieved her bladder. Then she opened the tap of the shower to glory in cascades of hot, clear water. All her senses seemed heightened, her nose smelling things she never smelled before, her eyes seeing clearer, her skin responding to the merest touch.

She took out the plug, noticing how her body resisted letting it go. Then she moved her bowels and filled the enema bag. She didn't know if this was what was expected of her, she just loved the clean feeling.

The water was clear after two enemas and one extra for good measure. It was much easier than the first time, only the day before. No more cramps, just the sensation of being filled to the extreme. She knew she liked that. She needed it.

When she came back into her bedroom, she sat down at her breakfast, wolfing it down to the last crumb. Rising to start her day, she noticed the little instrument on her pillow. Picking it up and examining it, she saw it was a lovely designed tondeuse. What was it called in English? Clippers, a pair of clippers. She wondered what it might be for. All her body hair had been removed efficiently, yesterday. The accompanying little cream card had only one word to offer.

"Head," it said in a spidery writing. Massive disbelieve hit her. She must shave her head; was that what it meant? A nervous giggle left her lips. Go bald? She? No bloody way! There might be better hair in the world, but this was hers. No one was going to rob her of that. What did she think, this damned woman? What in this godawful world did the bitch think?

As soon as the words formed in her head, she shrank from them. The sudden anger took her by surprise. How easy it was to find condemning labels for a woman she had loved deeply only a minute before. Or had she? Hot flashes made her tremble all over. Tears ran down her cheeks.

She walked the length and breadth of her bed, talking loudly to herself. Why did the woman request it? Wasn't it enough that she loved her? Hadn't she shown her dedication enough? Did the bitch need proof in this terrible, humiliating way? She threw the instrument on the bed, then picked it up and threw it down again. She sank down beside it, crying with long, angry wails until all tears were spent. She raised her ruined face and stared out of the window, both hands propping up her head.

Next to the window stood the little table; on it was the plug. It lay next to the lovely rose. She stood and picked up the smooth black stone, weighing it. Then she took the clipper in the other hand as if comparing their weight. She was totally at a loss, not knowing at all what to do. She needed time. Yes, she just had to buy time. Things were moving too fast, way too fast. No one could expect her to decide now. Could they?

She threw both objects on the bed. Then she slipped into the heeled riding boots they had given her yesterday and went down the stairs to the terrace. From there, she scaled the first flight of steps down the steep hillside to the stables below. Looking around, she had a glorious view on the lake, laying lazily in the morning sun. It stretched to the horizon like shimmering silver paillettes on the sensuous body of a sleeping dancer.

She tried to avoid the many branches and shrubs that crowded into the path, some of them carrying nasty thorns. Flowers and butterflies were everywhere; the drone of bumblebees gave her memories of the endless summers of her youth. She had worn riding boots then too, though definitely more clothes than she did now. She often went into the country to visit relatives. They owned horses; a nephew took her riding. At first, she sat on his horse, in front of him, later she rode her own pony.

The rides were part of her fondest memories. She loved the pony and soon wasn't seen without it all day. She groomed it, talked to it, sharing her deepest secrets. She fondled its velvet nose and kissed it, finding it so much easier to be with the horse than with most people she knew.

After she went to high school, the visits got less frequent. One day she discovered they had sold the pony and the other horses. They were moving to Vancouver. She was shocked that they had not even bothered to tell her; that she would never be able to say goodbye to her sweet friend and confidant. She would never see him again. It must have contributed quite a lot to the distrust of people she developed in the years to follow.

The stables stretched below her now. The building was old, all done in wood. The frame was made of impressive oak pillars and decked with mossed- over slate.

Coming out of the underbrush, she walked to the huge barn doors. No one was there. The scent of horse sweat, fresh straw, leather and manure struck her with the force of memory, almost making her cry. It also aroused her, weakening her knees.

Breathing deep, she went straight to the stable of a shining and elegant brown stud. His eyes were a liquid brown, radiating intelligence. Brigitte smiled with trembling lips. Then she took the head in her hands and kissed the warm nose. "Bonjour, Thibault," she whispered, at once sliding back into her childhood. She babbled all kinds of nonsense in the French of her youth.

She took the horse out of its stable into the sun, where she mounted it with an easy leap, no bit or reigns needed. Deep emotions shook her as her naked thighs clutched the wide, warm rump. She could feel the horse's pulse through her skin. It was as if she melted, getting one with the animal.

At the back of the stables was a fine stretch of grass. At first, she let the horse walk. Then, holding on to its manes, she beat her heels into its flanks. The horse snorted, sending its ears into attentive points. Then it broke into a gallop, making the undulating back of the horse hump against her naked crotch, her freshly shaven pussy sliding over the slick, throbbing hide. A surge of freedom swept through her. The wind blew her hair into a straight flag. Her free tits slapped against her chest. She screamed until her voice gave out.

Ah, God, to fly with this heavenly creature, to be free like a soaring bird. To feel all cobwebs disappear, all nests of new and age-old trouble blowing away.

She crossed the meadow and turned. Then she crossed it again and back. The horse started to snort and sweat; flecks of foam flew from its mouth. She told him to slow down, thanking him. She adorned him with sweet lover's words, stretching her naked body all over his back and neck, whispering into his ears. She patted his proudly arching throat. Then, all of a sudden, the dark clouds of misery returned, darkening the sun, blackening her mood.

"Ah, mon Dieu, Thibault! La femme, est-ce que c'est qu'elle veut de moi? Je ne comprends pas. What does she want of me? Why does she treat me like this? I love her, don't I? But I can't do this. Jamais, Thibault! Never! Dis-moi, mon amour: est-elle dérangée? Tell me, my love, is she stark raving mad?"

Sliding off the horse, Brigitte raged on, there, in the middle of the lovely meadow. Her fists hammered the horse's neck and rib cage. Then she sagged against the animal and cried, her body heaving with sobs. She started kissing the animal, caressing its nose. Then she mounted it again and led it off the meadow.

She took it down the road and into the woods, further away from the stables. Of course, people might see her naked, she didn't care. She was with Thibault; nothing else mattered for now. She clutched his warm massive body between her thighs, letting the slow, caressing movement take her into a dreamy state. There was a high wind in the trees, the earth gave off its earthy smell. Misery and panic slipped away until not a thought in her head reached beyond the next curve of the soft forest path. Not a thought but one. It turned into a fever.

Back in the now, standing by the car, naked and bald, her bare feet sinking into the pebbled driveway, Brigitte licked her lips as her body glowed with arousing memories, until the blackness of regret crashed back in. Aah, why had she been so stupid, choosing what she chose?

Brigitte recalled arriving back at the meadow, astride her lover, nothing in her head but pink afterglow. Getting closer, she saw people at the stables, a man and a boy with a horse. There also was a woman. Brigitte dismounted and walked the last few yards to the stables. The woman was Angique, who'd obviously returned from her business appointment. The man was the chauffeur, the boy was the stable boy.

She smiled a smile of innocent bliss, but it died on her lips. Darkness had gathered in the emerald eyes of the woman. Angique told the boy to take Thibault to its stable. Then she told the chauffeur to 'grab the slut.' He should tie her to one of the wooden pillars that shored the roof.

Brigitte winced when the man tied her with his leather belt, her hands behind her, hugging the pillar. Her bare chest was pushed out to give her a perfectly vulnerable feeling.

Angique stood very close; their noses almost touched.

"Ungrateful cunt," she hissed. Her eyes shot sparks of green. "Is it so difficult to please me when I'm not around? Are your own little prides so precious?" Standing back, she slapped Brigitte in the face with her flat hand. To her amazement Brigitte saw that there were tears in the woman's green eyes. They swam with them and sparkled.

Stepping closer again, Angique pulled hard at Brigitte's hair. Then she slid her hand around her and pushed a hard, single finger into her empty ass hole.

"Is it so hard to obey me, Brigitte?" she asked with a shaking voice. "Wasn't that why you came here? To find a woman you could serve; a woman who would take care of your miserable, senseless life?" Brigitte was too stunned to say anything. She hung her head.

"Brigitte" Angique whispered, her mouth very close. "I could have you whipped cruelly for this; don't you agree?" Brigitte kept silent. "Don't you?" Angique repeated. Brigitte nodded. "Say it loud, girl."

"Yes. I agree."

"Agree to what?"

"That you have the right to whip me."

Angique stood silent for a bit; then she raised Brigitte's chin with the tip of a finger and looked straight into her eyes.

"But that would be too easy, wouldn't it, darling?" Brigitte's eyes flew left and right, trying to escape the green fury. "Maybe I should ask Arnold to treat you to a few lashes with the bull whip, and then I should send you packing," Angique said. She started walking up and down in front of the girl tied to the pillar. "Now wouldn't that punish you where it really hurts, little liar? To send you away from what you love?"

"Brigitte," she continued with a sad, low voice. "I have asked you to join me and to become mine. But, you know, darling, there are so very few girls strong enough to walk the road with me to the end. It is so easy to give in to your fear and run. So easy.

From the moment I saw you, I knew you had potential. There is a slut inside you, oh, such a sweet needy slut. She could grow out to be the goddess of whores. I want that whore, Brigitte, but I need her to love me. Only me." Angique's eyes now streamed with tears, shining inside their circles of ruined mascara. Then the clouds drifted in again. Her voice became steady, distant. "Obviously, I was mistaken. I return today and find you without the plug. And worse: with all your hair untouched. What made you disobey me so flagrantly, stupid little girl?" Brigitte knew what to say, but her throat blocked the words. Then she croaked:

"I... I... was going to put the plug back in after the ride, Mistress." Angique slapped her face.

"Don't Mistress me! Don't use the words if you can't live them. And, dammit, Brigitte, don't give me lame excuses. The hair, cunt! The hair! These sorry, mousy excuses for a head of hair!" She pulled at the light brown locks with ferocity. "Would you have shaven them later too? My God, don't you lie to me, stupid bitch! Don't add shame to the pain you have already caused. And don't lie to me! It's not just the hair, am I right?" Angique looked away. She wiped her eyes, the black streaks giving her pale face a demonic touch. Then she turned back and showed the small object in the palm of her hand. It was the tondeuse.

"Untie her, Arnold," she growled. When the belt had been untied, she bid Brigitte to kneel in the dust. Still presenting the clippers, she said:

"A last choice, darling. You clip your hair until your skull shines with baldness, or you pack your few miserable things and crawl back to your Canadian hole."

In the driveway, Brigitte winced at the memories. Her gaze had turned inside, wondering at the perfect mess she was. Of course, it hadn't been just the hair...

***

From the deep shadows of the entrance, Angique watched the girl without being seen. The intensity of her emotions took her by surprise, making her glad to have wrapped herself in all the defenses she could muster. Although it was stiflingly hot, she had dressed in one of her most severe black leather corsets. She'd asked to be laced up as extreme as possible, the cruel bones inside the leather only allowing her to breathe shallowly. They nipped her waist to an almost childlike narrowness. The pale skin of her pushed up breasts contrasted sharply with the leather. A black collar cut her white throat in half.

One gloved hand held a leather crop, also black. She tapped it softly against her leg. Her flesh was bare from the edge of the corset down to the hem of her leather, skintight stockings. They were held up by black satin garters that framed the bare center of her crotch. A huge, straight strap-on dildo rose where her shaven slit should be seen; a fat monster, covered with shining black leather. It was at least eight inches long, swaying softly when she shifted her weight on heeled leather boots.

Angique's face was almost totally covered by a mask that only left her signal red mouth to be seen. All of her black hair was packed inside it, even her ears could not be seen. Her hidden eyes kept their green, smoldering fire to themselves. She'd done everything not to give away any of her feelings.

The girl outside had sunk to her knees, burying them into the painfully edged gravel. Her hands rested on spread thighs, palms upward. She pushed her chest out. Her naked, shaven head was raised, but her eyes stayed down in meek defeat. Minutes passed. The merciless sun thundered its rays down on her defenseless skin, searing the bare dome of her skull, the white silk of her shoulders.

Angique's breasts rose and sank from rapid, shallow breathing. She fought to regain her calm, trying to scale down the pace of her heart and ignoring the deep glow behind the strapped-on cock. Then she stepped out into the sun.

They were alone now, the kneeling girl and her... what? Ah well, her Mistress? The girl feared the harsh judgement she knew she deserved, at the same time craving it. Ah yes, a perfect mess she was.

Angique shook inside her awe-inspiring fortress with emotions she could never admit to. In silence she once more wondered who was the most powerful, slave or Mistress. The girl, who had the age of a woman? Or the Mistress, who was essentially still a girl? She slapped the soft leather tip of the crop against her calf. It sent a crisp little sound into the silent world, as much to force herself into focus as to get the bald girl's attention.

"My thankless bitch comes crawling back," she said. Her voice was miles away from the self-assured steel she had intended to pour into it. Brigitte just let her head hang, keeping her silence.

Angique took two more steps forward and laid the crop's tip on the shining skull.

"Does the girl know that her punishment will be more severe than she could ever imagine, I wonder?" Angique said, more to herself than to her kneeling victim. Her voice rose. "Why didn't you stay away, girl, and avoid this ordeal?" Brigitte said nothing. Angique shifted the crop's tip to the girl's chin. She lifted her head with it." Dis-moi. Tell me." Brigitte's eyes opened. The inner rim of her eyelids shone with tears, her lips trembled, and her voice was almost too soft to stir the air. "Plus fort, fille. Louder, girl." Brigitte swallowed.

"Madame. I could not stay away any longer."

The crop sank, the head dropped. Angique just stared, trying to take in the answer. Such simple words, but they shook her like an earthquake, opening up every square inch of a defenseless soul. They exposed a trust that knew no conditions. Simple words they were, but they spoke of suffering and pain. They explained an urge as basic as breathing. She could not stay away, she said. Hell might await her; pain and humiliation would surely follow. But she could not stay away any longer.

Angique felt tears. They overflowed the narrow space between her mask and her skin. The crop fell from her hand onto the gravel. Then she herself sank to her knees, taking the girl's face between gloved hands. She engulfed her mouth with her lips, kissing hard and long, moaning into the half open cavity and filling it with her writhing tongue.

They kissed for minutes. Brigitte, now trembling, pushed her naked body against the leather fortress. She was totally surprised by the way things had changed from threat to overwhelming tenderness. The only thing she could do was let go of her fear, letting her ego dissolve into this incredible woman. Time melted, the whole world shrank to this one, shining point.

And still they kissed.

Angique took her tongue and lips off the girl's mouth. A long, shining thread of saliva spanned the growing space between their faces. It got stretched too thinly and fell toward Brigitte's chin. There it dripped down on her chest.

The woman with the mask breathed fast, almost causing her tits to be pushed out of their leather restraint. Then she said:

"You silly girl. Welcome back to my Villa." She smiled with wet, smeared lips. Then she took her hands to her neck and undid the leather collar, wrapping it around Brigitte's throat and closing it tightly. She unwound a narrow leather leash from around her waist, clicking it on the steel eyelet at the front of the collar. She then pulled the girl up with it until both of them stood.

"Follow me," she said and led the naked girl into the dark, cool Villa.

***

Kimmie.

Cyberia can be high school all over again; when I met Kimmie, it certainly was. Kimmie was a confusing character. She sounded like a moral diamond coming in with a tide that only brought pebbles and shells. She can't have been as prudish as she seemed, for sure. And she wasn't.

The girl sat in a corner, just a few yards away. She leant against a pink-and-silver papered wall, hugging her knees. Her hair was darkish blonde; her voice sounded tired. She wore a white t-shirt that was too big for her. The face peeping through the curtains of her hair was a girl's, but she definitely had the eyes of someone much older: guarded, even hostile. Angique didn't remember seeing her before at the Club.

"Hi," she said. She got no answer. "You seem quite alone, honey."

"I'm used to it."

"Are you new in here, honey?"

"I guess so."

The answers were short and non-committal. It annoyed Angique, as she had done nothing to give this complete stranger a reason for hostility. She had come to the Club in the wee hours of the night, a thing she did more often, having worked late. She just needed a glass of something, and the Club was always open. She thought it was one of its main attractions: just sitting here, sipping and thinking in the middle of the night, sometimes chatting with another night owl, most times alone with whomever cleaned the bar or helping herself if everybody had left. Tonight, she thought the room would be empty and was surprised to find the girl huddling against the wall, shrouded in shadows.

"I am Angique, honey, no need to bite my head off. What's your name?"

"I know who you are."

"Ah, you do? Well, there you have an advantage. I don't know you, darling." The girl hesitated. Then she obviously made a decision.

"I am Kimmie, " she said. "Sometimes Kari."

"Two names? Why?" The girl just shrugged. "Okay. I'll call you Kimmie."

"Suit yourself."

Angique took a sip of her calvados. She peered over the rim of her glass to the girl, noting she didn't look back.

"Did you come over here with the rest from that other lez club that closed?" she asked, but there was no answer. "I'll take that as a yes," she concluded. The girl shrugged.

"Am I bothering you?" she then asked.

"I was happy alone."

"I see. You look unhappy, though. Has someone been hurting you lately?"

The girl's eyes flashed in Angique's direction. Her mouth worked, but no sound came from it. Then she started rocking, hugging her knees.

"What is it to you?" she growled. "Are you a shrink or something?"

"Oh God, no!" Angique exclaimed with a laugh. The girl shrugged. The silent spell stretched.

"I have been thinking," Angique went on, smiling. "I hope you don't mind that I did." The girl just looked up.

"You see," Angique went on. "When you add 1 to another 1, you get 2, most of the time." She chuckled and sipped. "At least I do. And that is how I came to thinking you got hurt by someone or something, sometime recent."

Silence.

"Because, you know," Angique carried on, undisturbed. "This place has been my watering hole for years, and I am not at all sure that I am happy with this bunch coming over. You see, this has always been a place where women with a certain, let's say lifestyle felt that they were save and could be themselves. A free haven, as it were. And right now, I don't think the batch of girls you came with agrees with that. I think they despise me and every evil thing they assume I stand for."

Silence. Angique chuckled.

"Your mouth must be as good as new, honey. Unless you save it for other activities." The girl leapt to her feet.

"Don't make fun of me!" she cried and ran out of the room. Her t-shirt flapped around her skinny frame.

Angique shrugged. My God, she thought, shortest fuse I ever saw on a girl. What is it with humor and these new girls? She let the calvados swirl in the round belly of her glass. The metal of her rings made the crystal chime. Then she looked up, hearing another sound. It came from near the entrance of the Club. A piece of white cloth peeped around a column. Angique grinned. "Playing hide-and-seek, honey?" The flap of white hastily disappeared. "I am having a drink after a hard day's work. You want one too? Maybe a soda?"

A moment passed. Then the girl appeared from behind the column, standing in the light. Her bare feet pointed slightly inwards; her fingers choked the hem of her shirt. Pointy breasts showed where they stretched the fabric.

"I don't do that!" Her voice sounded like a challenge. Angique shrugged. She had Kimmie in plain view now.

"Okay," she said. "No drink then. But I hope you stay for a bit."

"I don't mean the drink!"

Angique just raised her eyebrows in a questioning way.

"If you think I'll let you fuck me, you're wrong!"

The girl spat the words out. Angique gasped at the unexpected turn of the conversation, if one might even call it a conversation. "Why would I think that honey? You look sweet, but why would I want to fuck you?"

The girl walked closer until she was almost where she had been before. She let her back slide down the wall, holding the shirt so it wouldn't hike up. Her spindly arms wrapped around her knees again. The scowl was in place.

"They all want to fuck me," she murmured. "All the girls from the old club."

Angique crossed her legs and arranged her skirt. "Now would they?" she said, playing at surprise. "Oh my, I never thought they were like that. They fuck around? I thought they were quite a stuck-up bunch; hardly believed they might fuck at all." Angique grinned. "Aren't they all just cozy couples going steady, making sweet love Hollywood style?"

"You know better," Kimmie said after a short silence. "They are players, all of them. They are hypocrites fucking around in the dark; cheaters and liars all of them. But I won't play. I won't!"

Wow, Angique thought, a true waterfall of words. Then the girl's eyes zoned in on hers, blazing with venom. "And you are just like them! I saw you with the girl on the leash, the little blond one. I bet you threw her away afterwards, having done with her! And now you want me."

Angique sat silent, stunned by the outburst. Then she slid off her stool and took a few steps toward the girl.

"Kimmie," she said, keeping her voice soft like velvet. "You don't know me, honey. We never met, but you already condemn me?" The girl just scowled, acting cool, but Angique saw how she trembled and went on, keeping her voice low. "Bobbi, the one on the leash, loves me, Kimmie. We have been close for almost a year. I care for her. She loves it when I abuse and humiliate her, but I would never hurt her. She always returns for more." Angique leant forward to catch the girl's wild gaze. "I know it is hard to understand. Maybe you should ask her the next time she's in. Just ask her."

A tear ran down Kimmie's cheek. She shook with soundless sobs. Angique took another step and reached out for her, but the girl twisted her body to avoid contact.

"Don't touch me!"

"You can trust me, baby," Angique whispered. "What is going on? You can tell me." Through the sobbing she heard a halting voice. "They hate me. Every one of them hates me and wants me gone."

"Why? Why you? You came over with them, didn't you?" The girl pushed her fists into her eyes like a child, rubbing them. When she looked up again, they were red rimmed and swollen, making her look touching -- and rather ugly. "I did do nothing!" she blurted out.

Angique returned to her stool and sat, re-crossing her legs, keeping her skirt from sliding open.

"Of course not," she said, smiling. "But maybe they didn't like the way you put it?" She knew it confused the girl. "You see," she went on. "I don't know you well, but long enough to know that you are quite umm... black and white in your opinions, and quite forthright in your choice of words. Maybe you..."

She never got to end the sentence as she was disturbed by a loud clamor at the entrance of the Club's Salon. A group of excited women stumbled in; they seemed to have come straight from a rather liquid party. One of them was blond and tall and pretty tipsy. She wore a light blue, ankle-long dress. It was slit at the top, with gold thread embroidered around it, Moroccan style. The clasp of the slit was open, showing quite an expanse of tanned breast. The flesh swayed as she stumbled forward, obviously unhampered by a brassiere.

Behind her stood a woman in a black male suit. It looked like an Armani and was worn over a white shirt. Its collar hung open and a black tie dangled from it. On her slick and tightly gathered hair rode a black gangster type hat with a shining leather band. Angique saw two more women, one of whom she had met before. She was dressed in a businesslike skirt suit, blue with rather wide pin stripes. The other woman was tall and skinny, emphasizing her legs by wearing a very short purple mini.

The tipsy woman stepped forward pointing at Kimmie, who seemed to want to crawl into the wall.

"There you are, you little rat!" she cried out, her voice slurred. The woman in black grabbed her shoulder to keep her from stumbling.

"Good night to you too," Angique said. "You must have had a great time." She smiled and lifted her glass. "Maybe a last night cap? Although I am not quite sure you need one more, Aura." The blonde's rather vacant blue eyes shifted to the woman in the chair.

"You!" she spat. "You keep out of this, you ss... you sjexist sjlut!" She shook herself free from her companion's hand and stepped forward. "You are the lasjt... the very lasjjt one to tell me whatsa do!"

Angique looked down on the long-nailed fingers that grabbed her shoulder. Then she bored her eyes into the blue, red-rimmed ones and the hand withdrew. Angique shifted her gaze to the woman with the hat.

"You better tell your drunken trollop not to touch me, Lee," she said without raising her voice. "I don't like that." The woman called Lee pushed Aura aside and towered over the seated woman.

"Angique," she hissed. "I tell you to keep out of this. You don't know what that little sleazebag did. She is spreading filthy rumors about Aura and me to drive us apart. Wait till you know more before you defend her!"

Angique turned to Kimmie, who tried to even look smaller.

"I did nothing!" she said. "Nothing. They just hate me. They want me out because I don't let them fuck me! They hate me because I don't play their filthy games!" Angique set her empty glass on the bar and rose, making Lee yield. She was as tall as Lee, but her heeled boots gave her a few inches extra. She pointed a ringed finger.

"You listen, Lee and you listen well. All this Mistress nonsense may have gone to your head, but it doesn't mean you can act like drunken bullies in here and gang on one of the girls visiting this Club. Do you understand?" Lee just looked, but Aura slurred:

"The little slut is spreading lies and she knows it. We won't have liars in here! She has to go." Angique frowned, then smiled.

"Let me guess," she said. "You all agree on this. You, Aura, pretty Business Boobs here and the one with the long legs? You all want this li'l pip squid out and because you are many and she is only one you think you're right? Like back in high school?" She positioned herself between Kimmie and the mob.

"First you get past me," she growled. Her green eyes blazed, her purple-tipped fingers clawed the air, begging them to come closer. Aura lurched half-heartedly, but Lee pulled her back.

"You'll hear from us, Angique," she said. "This will cost you your membership!" She grabbed Aura by the shoulders and all four of them left the salon. The girl with the tall legs looked over her shoulder before they were gone. She winked. Angique chuckled. Damn pious whores, she mused.

"They are all sluts," Kimmie piped up behind her back. Angique turned towards her.

"And you should guard your big mouth, stupid girl," she said. "Don't think I defended you because I think you are right. I know nothing about you. They may very well be right accusing you." The girl scrambled to her feet.

"I did nothing!" she screamed and ran out of the room. Angique sighed, picking up her purse.

"Damn kindergarten. I'm getting too old for this."

As she walked from the salon and through the lobby, her heels echoed against the high vaulted ceiling. She was greeted by the voice of a man. Such a rare sound in this place, she thought as she turned towards it with a smile.

The man was in his fifties, stoutly built. He carried a fur coat in his hands.

"Hello, Angique," he said with a slow Texan drawl. "It's late, girl. Shouldn't you be in bed?" Angique chuckled, accepting the coat.

"Thank you, Gary. Yes, I should leave. Especially since it was quite an unnerving evening." The man laughed.

"Aren't all your nights?" Angique shook her head no.

"Gary," she said. "You should keep an eye out for the bunch that came here from the other lez club that closed. I guess they are good clients, and we need them for their money, but they may destroy the place just as they probably did the old one." The man's face had turned serious.

"You think so?" he asked. "What makes you think so?"

"Nothing concrete, yet," Angique said. "But they will move soon. They'll want this place for their own narrow morals and will chase everyone else out. They might even use you to succeed." The man laughed again. Then he sighed.

"Damn women! Always trouble." And Angique laughed with him.

"It was your idea to bunch us together, honey." She searched for her keys in her purse. Then she kissed the man on his cheek and wished him good night.

Outside a cold wind made her huddle inside the furs.

***

Kimmie didn't leave Angique alone; she was a riddle that occupied her mind all the next day. It was easy to see her as a victim of bullying and as such she had Angique's pity. But there was more. She reminded Angique of a very special victim: herself. It had been so many years ago that she could easily fool herself into having forgotten.

The convent school had not started yet, but some of the girls were already back from vacation. A. shared a large dorm room under the roof with at least twelve other girls. Curtains allowed for some visible privacy, but A. soon found out that it was not appreciated to close them.

Four girls were as yet present. Carole, a stunning blonde with expressive deep blue eyes, was the room's senior. She explained A. that each room was supposed to form a unit with a responsibility for the senior girls to help and guide the new students.

That first night she tried to sleep early to escape all her new and uneasy feelings, but it took her hours to finally nod off. In the dark she heard some of the other girls whisper and giggle. Sounds that only made her feel more alone and miserable.

When at last she slid into a fitful sleep, she walked the length of the convent's colonnade. She held a hand but was not able to see who's hand it was. She passed an open door and peeped in. It was only a flash she saw of what was happening inside. In the dark dormitory her moan split the deep silence. The blonde with the blue eyes rose on her elbow and peered to where the new girl lay. A slow smile curled her lips.

The dormitory had an adjacent bathroom for collective showering. A. hesitated to use it, as she had never taken a bath in public. She was shy and very insecure to expose her body to the other girls. But Carole clacked her tongue and shook her blonde tresses. She called out to the other girls; together they stripped A. from her nightgown and undressed themselves. With a lot of giggles and friendly pummeling they dragged her into the showers. There they turned into a hazy host of pink shadows disappearing in clouds of white steam. A.'s heart raced, first from fear, then from exhilaration. She had never seen a naked woman. She had been brought up by nannies and only saw her mother on special occasions. That is, when she happened to be home at all.

Now she felt soft and busy hands all over her body. They soaped her and kneaded her until sweet roses blushed on her pale skin. She felt their bodies against hers, soft breasts touching her, arms embracing her in playful butterfly hugs.

Her eyes shone like emerald jewels, flitting around to take it all in. Soon she did not mind being naked any more. She stretched her young body, straightening her back and shoulders, drowning gladly in the steamy fun and splashing pleasures. She even started to answer the hugs and caresses and was only slightly startled when she felt soft wet lips that kissed her neck and shoulders.

Then, suddenly she felt her arms grabbed and drawn backwards. At the same time, she was pushed down until her knees touched the slippery tiles. She screamed. Her heart pounded in her throat. Her eyes flew up and around. Through the clouds she saw floating faces smiling at her. They were nodding and yelling things at her. She could not understand them because fear made a whistling sound inside her head.

A hand cupped her skull, pulling her forward, until her face sank into soft, wet flesh. Hands were now everywhere, on her shoulders, her back and her bottom. Then one voice urged the others to be silent. She could not see who it was; her face was entirely surrounded by the soft skin of a girl's lower belly and slick mound. But she recognized the voice as Carole's, and at last she understood what she said.

"Oui, ma p'tite A... Now please understand, you are here to learn. And not all the learning will be from books or in classrooms. You will learn how to be a perfect woman, ma p'tite. The perfect woman. Your daddy brought you here to be taught by the best. And right now..."

Here A. felt her head lifted. She was forced to look up into the deep blue eyes that stood very calm in a serious face.

"And right now, little A., you shall have your very first lesson... Right in front of your roommates you shall lick my shaven pussy. Your pretty tongue will slide up and down my wet slit and we'll all judge how well you do that."

A. had no idea what she meant. With wide, innocent eyes she looked up into the hypnotic blue gaze. She slowly shook her head. A sudden slap hit her cheeks, stunning her even more than hurting her.

"No, A., no!" the steady voice continued. "Wrong, totally wrong. Never ever shake your head again as long as you are here. Now open your sweet mouth and suck my dripping cunt lips... Do it nowww!!"

The voice screamed as a second and third blow hit A.'s face. She sobbed and looked up with tear filled eyes. Then, slowly, she opened her mouth. She closed her swollen lips around Carole's wet, bare slit. And with more slaps and blows she understood at last how to pleasure the girl by licking, sucking, then fucking her tight shaven cunt with her tongue. She learnt how to circle her tongue around the tiny swollen nub of flesh. It stood proud right inside the outer lips and it made the girl spasm and moan.

All the time A. sobbed and shook with misery. Where had daddy brought her? Why had he left her here? Did he know? Her face was pulled into the soft wet flesh until she gagged. She tried to oblige the constant orders given her.

Her flaring nostrils smelt a new scent. It was wild and fishy; her tongue tasted the salt of the sea. And to her bewilderment she felt her body respond, ignoring her fear and misery. She felt a glow spread through her loins, then up her belly. A total disorientation made her mind spin. She pulled her head back and took in a huge gulp of steamy air. Before her eyes the slightly open slit pulsated. It suddenly looked irresistible. Even without the hands urging she dug into it again with an open mouth and a hard, tipped tongue.

"Good girl," the voice said, now in a sweet and friendly way. "Mmmmmm, ah, yesssss... my lovely little slut... mmmmm".

A cloud of hot, boiling desire had cloaked itself over A. All sounds were muffled now and far away. She sucked and licked with mad obsession. Almost detached from this girl who must be her, but was so new and strange, she watched herself eating and sucking. She forced her entire face into the stretching pussy. Juices made her skin slippery. The demanding hands pulled hard at her and used her face to rub the entire area.

She was totally shut off from the world. It took her minutes before she became aware of the wet, slippery fingers entering her lower openings. Two fingers forced her virgin cunt, another was pressing the tight round muscle of her ass.

Crying out, she stiffened. A new panic engulfed her, but the hands held her head and did not let go. They took all her breath away and muffled every sound.

Carole now came hard. She rubbed her belly against the girl's face, never minding her despair. And the fingers below did not stop. From both sides they invaded her openings and started fondling her narrow insides.

Gasping as a drowning mermaid A. struggled herself free from the hands of Carole. They lost their strength as the girl came down from her orgasm. Slipping and sliding A. ran away from the prodding hands. She huddled her abused body in a tiled corner, hands over her face, screaming at the top of her lungs.

All four girls stood around her now, clucking and laughing at her distress. Then they left and turned down the showers.

A. shivered and sobbed, alone and in total misery.

As the cold crept in, her shivering became uncontrollable. She hugged her knees and stared into the empty white space. She saw nothing, heard nothing but the echoing drippings of the shower heads on the tiled floor.

Back in the now, and in her Amsterdam atelier, Angique shuddered at the memory, gripping a hot tea mug with cold hands. She remembered seeing her face in a condense-clouded mirror, tear streaked and miserable. Most of all she remembered her eyes, and she knew Kimmie's had looked the same; the exact same.

Bobbi.

Another girl roaming the dark corridors of Cyberia was Bobbi. She was special, not just because she was almost annoyingly perfect, but also because she wasn't a girl at all. That is to say: she presented herself as a girl, but I thought (and saw) her otherwise. Looking back, I feel ashamed of how I treated her. That is to say: if I'd known what shame was.

The boy looked impossibly girlish with his slight frame and flaxen hair. His tits might hardly be more than puffy nipples, his pale and graceful body looked soft and lean. At the same time, it was toned, like a dancer's. Well-trained muscles moved under the creamy smoothness of his skin.

His pale blue eyes were usually fixed on the floor, but they grew big and amazingly steady whenever he looked up. He had a way of entering Villa like a whisper, naked and oiled, crawling catlike until he knelt and sat on his heels, eyes down, hands resting on his slightly spread thighs, palms up, his penis soft and tiny like a baby's thumb.

Bobbi'd been in love with Angique ever since they first met; Angique's response, on the other hand, was casual. Maybe she cared for the impish creature, but never felt she should commit to him in any way. She baptized him Bobbi and occasionally feasted on the little servant's generous sweetness.

The boy was grateful for every spare second he got. He also seemed oblivious to the irritations, which his bland eagerness instilled in his dreamt-to-be Mistress. He was too easy, Angique thought; he was like a soft pillow, yielding to a punch but always bouncing back. Neglect only seemed to feed his love and adoration.

At times Angique casually hurt Bobbi's feelings. She shoved him to the backburner whenever there were other, spicier girls to keep around -- like Kristie or Brigitte, or even Anna. She only allowed Bobbi back into her favor whenever a girl ran off or was dumped, and there was no one else to bear the brunt of Angique's frustrations. Bobbi never complained; he was always there to comfort his "Miss," not even being allowed to call her Mistress. He gladly offered his tiny body to be abused and his big, loyal heart to be broken.

At times Angique felt guilty, uttering half-hearted excuses, but Bobbi always stopped her with sweet long kisses and meticulous massages from his strong, skilled hands. Bobbi was a professional masseuse and a very good one; his fingers rubbed the stress and frustration out of Angique's body, even when the boy knew he was just preparing her for other, more appreciated prey.

One morning, Angique arrived at Villa finding Bobbi on his knees, naked, oiled and freshly shaven. He might have arrived minutes ago or hours ago, no way to know with the little, patient creature. He smiled up at Angique and offered ways to pleasure her. Angique didn't look, she just threw her leather coat in a corner and sagged into an overstuffed club chair, stretching her long, booted legs, groaning.

"Did you have to be here, slut?" she asked with a sigh. "Have you come to feed on my misery?"

"Sorry, Miss," Bobbi answered. "Of course, I would never do that, but if my presence displeases you, I'll go." His eyes were down, but he never moved.

Angique let out a frustrated scream. She rose from her chair, rushing over to the kneeling creature. She kicked him in the side, making him roll over and slide on the marble floor, propelled by the slickness of his skin. Bobbi just lay there, never uttering a sound, and never trying to protect his exposed body.

"Goddammit, boy!" Angique cried out, kicking him again. "Do you always have to be so fucking perfect? Are you mocking me?"

She stood panting over the crushed boy, hands on her hips. Her mouth worked and then she spit a glob of gathered saliva straight into Bobbi's face.

"Get off your high horse, you, spineless slut!" she went on, lifting her boot and grinding its heel into the girl's soft belly. "Don't you dare hope that I'll feel sorry for you!"

Bobbi's hands grabbed the boot. Bringing his head up to the black leather, he started licking its shaft. His eyes locked with Angique's; there was no fear in them. The woman tore her foot free from the boy's grasp and reached down to grab him by the short hair, dragging him over to the side of the hearth.

"Stand, you damned fool," she said. "Stand up and offer me your wrists."

Bobbi did just as he was told, standing naked under the hooked chain that dangled from the ceiling. The click of the closing cuffs sent a shiver through his body. Without being asked, he raised his bound hands over his head. His eyes were closed now, but his nostrils opened wide when he caught the scent of his tormentor. Their bodies almost touched as Angique reached up to slip the hook through the metal eyes of the cuffs.

The chain creaked as it tightened, pulling the boy up until he stood stretched to the maximum, only his toes touching the floor. His muscles were like ropes under his skin, his ribs showed, and he shivered, making the red glow of the hearth turn his oiled body into a living torch. But Angique kept cranking the lever in the wall until he dangled inches above the marble tiles.

Walking up to him, Angique's green eyes were level with the wide-open blue ones. Her right hand started caressing the taut body, noting its throbbing heat. Her mouth was very close to Bobbi's, her breath mingling with the boys as she spoke.

"You know I only tolerate you here to suffer for my misery, don't you, li'l whore?" Bobbi panted, his mouth open. Cruel nails were pinching a nipple.

"Yes, Miss," he whispered. "I am here to pleasure you, any way you want me to."

Angique slapped him hard, first his face, then his tiny tits on the rebound. Tears and spittle flew from the impact; there was a small sob, then silence.

"Don't flatter yourself by thinking this is for you, slut," Angique went on, delivering two more slaps. "This is for me." She stopped the slow gyration of the dangling body, once more pushing her face into Bobbi's. "Do you understand?" she hissed. "This is for the way my love for a girl was thwarted. A girl who isn't you, a girl I love. I'll make you suffer for what she did to me. Do you understand?" Bobbi just stared back. Then he said:

"Yes, Miss, I understand. Please torture me, so I can heal your pain for the girl you love." His voice was clear and steady.

Angique stepped back and produced a slender cane. During the next minutes she proceeded to whip the girly boy's entire body with it, leaving ugly bruises and purple stripes. Bobbi was silent throughout the inferno. The only sound to be heard was the whistling of the bamboo as it arched through the air and the sickening thuds as the wood made its impact on the flesh. There also were grunts and groans, but they didn't come from the victim's mouth, they came from the lips of the punishing fury that Angique had become.

At last, the cane flew through the air and landed in a corner. Angique let go of a scream and crumbled to her knees, hugging the dangling legs of the boy she'd abused. Her shoulders shook with sobbing as she cried into the moist, hot niche between Bobbi's thighs.

"Oh, Miss!" the boy wailed. The pain in his arms and shoulders increased from the added weight. "Please untie me so I can hold you and comfort you in your pain. Let me hug you, let me please, please hug you." But his Miss only held him tighter, pouring her frustrated misery into the tortured flesh of her scapegoat.

Licia.

Finally, there was Licia; there always was Licia. I loved her; I love her still. Not just the petite body she described or her titillating panic that made her run from me whenever things got intense (or 'perverse' in her perception.) She pretended not to love me, though, as she insisted Cyberia wasn't 'real'. I might be anyone, she'd say, an archbishop was her favorite. As she once said: "What is the point of typing words into a black box and masturbating to them?" Licia was intelligent, well read and into classical music, ancient poets and vintage movies, but she could turn into the most breathtaking slut in the blink of an eye. From innocent child to insatiable cunt; from erudite woman into mindless animal.

And there always was her guilt, her ever present, delicious guilt.

***

What was she doing, Licia thought. Why had she agreed to fold her naked body over the back of a chair, leaving herself exposed and completely available to punishment and abuse by this woman? She hung forward, her face and breasts pressing into the chair. Surrounded by darkness, she inhaled the potent fragrance of old leather that she stirred with her ragged breath. Her fingers gripped the arms of the chair; only her toes reached the floor. A gloved hand caressed her raised buttocks with feather-light, maddening strokes. It made her thighs tremble.

Someone moaned; it must be herself. The woman was right; she was a slut, and a cowardly one to boot. She only used this place as an excuse, reassuring herself that things weren't real here; she could safely sin. It was all just a game and had no consequence. What went on in here, stayed in here, blah blah blah and so on. She had used the excuse over and over to get sucked and fucked in supposed anonymity, allowing herself to be treated in ways she would never accept in the outside world.

And now she hung here in this chair at this woman's place, gasping, while hot, wet lips kissed the entrance of her asshole, making her shudder with the taboo of it all. Why didn't she run? Why indeed. She had stripped and walked over to this chair of her own free will. She'd had ample chance to leave, but instead she had climbed to her naked feet and walked over to the chair, draping her body over its high back, waiting for whatever the woman had in store for her.

To her own surprise it had not offended her at all when Angique told her she was a slut. To the contrary, the thought brought a sudden peace of mind that engulfed her like a warm and comforting bath. It made even the tiniest of her muscles relax. Her white knuckles relaxed; her tight sphincter yielded to the insisting tongue. A tear ran down her forehead. Or was it up?

***

Downstairs in the Club's bar, Angique had probed her with questions that had exposed her, peeling her insincerity off, layer after layer. The woman's eyes and the calm directness of her voice had shredded the cocoon of hypocrisy she had wrapped around her soul over so many years. It still hurt how easily Angique exposed the shallowness of her relationship with her girlfriend. How she'd pointed out Alicia's superficial ways of using women at the Club, turning them into meaningless venues of a greedy lifestyle. Angique had stripped Licia naked long before she actually took off her clothes here at this unreal (but so surprisingly real) place the woman called Villa.

"Look up, girl," Angique had requested after a long, uneasy silence, iron slipping into the velvet of her voice. Alicia's eyelashes fluttered nervously when she looked up from her kneeling position. Angique caught her eyes at once.

"You're a slut, Alicia," she'd said, without a trace of venom; just stating a fact. The girl had blushed deeply. She swallowed hard but did not protest.

"You are a slut, pandering your easy cunt to anyone who wants it, and you know it," Angique went on after a pause. "I don't say this to offend you; it is what you are, even if you try to run from it. I know that you reason it away by assuming you are only a slut in here, so it doesn't count, really. But you know better. You are a true slut. Admit it and please don't look away when you do." Angique's gloved hand traveled down the girl's face and onto her left breast, caressing its nipple. Alicia gasped; the woman went on.

"You have this awful need to be used and abused so you can come and come again, don't you? Only thinking of it gets you to the brink, doesn't it? I know. It often overrides your common sense. It is why you are here, isn't it?" Angique tweaked the nipple viciously, making the girl flinch. "Tell me, whore!" she cried out. It shook Alicia. She just mumbled a tiny yes.

Angique had slapped her face, making her reel. "Say it!" "Yes, Angique," she'd cried out. "That is why I'm here." Tears ran down her burning cheek. Angique smiled, now taking the other nipple between her fingertips, pulling, twisting.

"And you need it harder all the time, don't you, little slut? Especially after trying to be a good girl for a while. You really start aching for it, don't you? You long to be taken over; you dream of being humiliated. Admit it!" The girl's lashes trembled, as did her lips.

"Yes. Yes, I do," she breathed.

Angique had suddenly reached down, grabbing Alicia's oozing cunt. She smeared its juices over her bare mound and inner thighs, her face close to the girl's. Alicia had started to tremble all over.

"It is all right, honey," she'd said. "It is who you are; you can't help it, so don't fight it." She kissed the open mouth, pressing her tongue against the chattering teeth. Then she straightened her back again, one hand lingering on Alicia's cheek.

"You belong to me, cunt," she said, her voice void of feelings. "Not to sweet li'l girlfriends or rich, boring bitches. The harder you try clinging to them, the sooner they'll dump you. Why try anyway? They can't give you what you need, can they? They don't understand you, and you know it." Tears streamed down the girl's face; Angique seemed unaffected.

"They don't have what it takes," she went on. "Admit it, at least to yourself, slut. You want to submit to them, but you only scare them. You want to be owned by them, but they don't understand, do they?" Angique paused before going on.

"You need to submit. Submission frees you from your silly guilt. Physical pain makes you feel alive, and it makes your cunt run. Admit it, slut! Stop lying to yourself." Angique slapped the girl's tits hard to make her point. Then she stepped back. She watched Alicia fight to catch her breath.

"Am I right, bitch?"

The girl just looked up; eyes dark with fear. Then she nodded. Angique slapped her tits again.

"Say it."

"Y-yes." The voice was soft, and it stuttered with emotion. "You are right. It is who I am."

Angique now showed the hand she'd hidden behind her back all the time. It held a short leather riding crop. The girl's eyes widened when she saw it.

"Kiss it, whore," Angique said. She pushed the crop's handle against Alicia's lips. They pursed and kissed the leather, crawling over it like pink, fat snails.

"Lick it," Angique went on. The lips opened and a wet tongue slid over the length of the grip.

"Now suck on it." Angique turned the crop and pushed the tip onto the curl of Alicia's tongue. The mouth closed over the soft leather flap. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked.

"You are a slut, Alicia," Angique repeated. "But as you refuse to be my slut, I don't have the power or the right to keep you away from anyone you want to fuck." To emphasize the last word, she made the crop crash down forcefully on the leather-clad palm of her left hand.

"You are not mine," she went on, walking around again. "And honestly, girl, I would not want you now. Sluts and whores have betrayed me often enough as soon as they saw a chance. Their cheating hurt me, but I never had a problem with kicking them to the curb. They were damaged property and good riddance." Angique took a deep breath that made the thin leather tighten over her breasts. Then she hissed:

"But you..."

Angique had completed two rounds circling the kneeling girl. When she came to the "but you" her face leaned in closely, holding Alicia's scared eyes.

"But you, slut, you... I love." Her gloved hand grabbed the girl's chin and her open mouth engulfed Alicia's once more, inhaling her gasps.

"You betray me, Alicia," she said, rising again, catching her breath. "You ridicule me and my love for you. You make a fool of me in front of people I hate. You hurt me and humiliate me." She allowed a pause, then she lowered her face and said:

"You have to suffer for that, do you understand?"

The girl wasn't ready to answer. She still heaved from the impact of the kiss. Angique smiled, sinking to her haunches and caressing the girl's face with her gloved hand. "Don't be afraid, honey. I won't hurt you if you don't want to. It is for you to decide. If you think you don't deserve to be whipped with this riding crop, you are free to leave this room -- and my life."

Angique waited while she dangled the crop's tip before Alicia's eyes, like a metronome. The leather was still dark with the girl's saliva. She watched Alicia shake her head left and right. She sighed.

"I don't know what that shaking means, honey. Let's keep it easy. If you agree you deserve punishment, please rise and walk over to that leather club chair over there, next to the fireplace. You bend over its back to present your ass, and you wait."

Again, nothing happened. The girl just kept kneeling, holding her head down, her long hair covering her face like a curtain. Her body shook, maybe with sobs? Angique removed the black curtain from Alicia's face. The girl was crying; her lips trembled and there were tears leaking from her chin. Angique's face was only inches away.

"Honey, stop crying, please," she whispered. "If your pride means so much to you, you are free to leave. But if you want to be with me, you have to pay. You know it." Her green eyes held the girl's. Then she rose again, waiting with her arms folded before her chest.

After what seemed like an eternity Alicia scrambled to her feet. She looked lost. Her hair was a mess; the mascara ran from her eyes. She crouched like a scared animal, a lost child. Watching her like this touched Angique deeply; it sent waves of goose bumps across her skin.

Then Alicia straightened up. Angique's eyes followed her as she walked to the leather chair. She pushed her belly into the high back and bent forward, her hair pooling on the seat. She spread both arms to grab the sides of the chair, her tight ass rising high. The shaven pussy lips peeped through her spreading thighs. She had to stand on tiptoe.

***

As she hung over the chair, inhaling hot air in this cradle of fragrant leather and scented hair, she wondered if anyone could ever be with this woman and not be naked., body and soul. Or if anyone could ever deny her what she wanted if she set her mind to it. She wondered if free will existed at all between those green, probing eyes and the soft, insistent voice.

New tears ran from her eyes to drip down her brow. She had agreed that she was a slut and to her amazement saying it had relieved her. It felt painful for a minute, like parting with an old friend even if he had long since become a burden. There was guilt of course, but mostly there was a rush of freedom. She knew now who she truly was and felt an incredible joy in allowing that epiphany to rush through her veins. It chased away her shame, her fear and the crumbling ruins of her guilt.

The woman's voice had seeped into her ears like warm syrup, making her recall every word. She remembered the warm, leather clad hands that had cupped her breasts, back when she'd lain kneeling on the cold marble. The woman had called them tits. 'Sluts have tits, ' she'd said, and her strong fingers had crushed her nipples, twisting them and pulling them out.

After she'd walked over to the chair, presenting her bare behind, she'd felt open hands slapping her buttocks. While they jiggled from the impact the woman called them her ass, judging them her best asset. Then Angique had kissed the tightly closed muscle of her anus, naming it her asshole, mocking the hypocrisy of calling it by any other name. 'Backdoor,' she'd chuckled, 'rosebud.'

By the time the gloved hand started kneading her oozing pussy, Licia was sure that she never had breasts or a vagina, alien words from a forgotten past. She was a slut. Sluts have tits and cunts. Sluts have an asshole. She was a slut.

"It's tits now, sweet whore, tits and a cunt," the voice murmured. "Be proud of them. You have the sweetest and easiest cunt ever. Now tell me. Say it." Oh God, yes, Licia knew how right the woman was, inconveniently right, painfully right. She shuddered, coming hard on the invading tongue.

"I-I am a s-slut," she stammered through the waves of utter bliss, her words muffled by her leather cage. "I-I have tits. I have a c-cunt; I have an ass-asshole. I-I am... I am... oh God..."

The first bite of the cane scattered the sweet glow of her orgasm. It seared through her skin, flashing like a shooting star across her mind. A riot of comets followed as the cane kept mercilessly punishing her flesh. It was pain, all right, pure and cruel pain, but it also seemed to be a forest of barbed exclamation marks, intended to brand her with a newfound identity.

The physical pain made her cry out; there was no way to avoid the flood of tears. But starting with the first blow she knew things were sliding. Certainties were crumbling; believes were fading and morphing into their opposites. Her entire world seemed to stop turning, then to start revolving again, but into an entirely new direction. Things would never again be as they were, and yet they were exactly as they should be. Things were right at last. The woman had a right to punish her, a right to purge her of the lies that ruled her life, the dishonesties and hypocrisies. The slick cane rained blows that marked her ass and thighs with red and purple lines. To her it felt like a rainstorm drowning a thirsty desert after eons of drought.

"Thank me, whore," Angique panted, exhausted from wielding the crop. It was very easy to comply. "Thank you," she stuttered, and her words were rewarded with another downpour of blessing pain.

And now, returning from near unconsciousness, she felt the woman's sweet tongue tracing the fiery lines of ecstasy. She once more broke down sobbing as she heard Angique's whispered words: "I love you, Licia. Oh God, I love you so."