Chapter 27: Poor Anna

The two naked women held hands like little girls. They stood in front of Villa's fireplace, their oiled bodies shining like copper and olive. Their hair was as black as night — the left one's straight and shoulder length, the right one's cascading in curly waves down her back. Their eyes were down, lips trying to conceal a nervous smile.

After entering and seeing them, Angique stopped in her stride. She took both women in, noting the absence of the riding crop in Alicia's hands. Then she walked past them, throwing her long leather coat on a chair — it sighed a wisp of outside autumn air when it landed.

Not a word was spoken while Angique circled the two women and sat down in front of them. She crossed her legs, straightening her skirt. Looking up, she smiled.

"Cute," she said. The women glanced at each other before settling their eyes on the floor again.

"Get me my tea, Anna, please," Angique then said, after a short, disturbing silence. She opened her notebook and ignored them.

Alicia, now alone, fidgeted with her fingers in front of her shaven cunt. Small sounds of glass and metal came from the hidden pantry; the notebook's pages rustled. Memories surfaced — memories of another time of waiting. Alicia changed her weight from her right foot to the left, and back again.

When Anna re-entered, she carried a silver tray. It held a china teapot and a wide-mouthed porcelain cup. She knelt in front of Angique, placing the tray on the low table right beside her crossed legs. She picked up the pot and poured a golden, steaming liquid. Then she leant back on her heels — waiting.

Another few minutes went by; the old Jugendstil clock chopped time into manageable particles, making eternity seem less endless. At last Angique picked up her cup. She blew on the tea before sipping it. It seemed a major event in the barren desert of silence. Both women watched unmoving as the world once more returned to a stand still.

After another few minutes of waiting, Alicia took a step in Anna's direction. From a corner of her eyes she looked for Angique's possible disapproval. When nothing happened, she took another careful step and another — the cushions of her naked feet touched the floor with feather lightness. At last she knelt down beside Anna. She lowered her ass cheeks to fold over her heels. Her nipples trembled from the release of a long-held breath.

When nothing happens, each tiny sound or movement becomes important — the scratching of a pen; a dangling foot; the sound of a distant church bell. Anna took it all in. At last she looked aside, finding Alicia's eyes. Both women seemed to arrive at a simultaneous decision.

"I don't know if we are allowed to break the silence, Mistress, but we are sorry, and beg you to forgive us," Anna said. Although she almost whispered, her voice exploded in the silence. Alicia nodded her agreement, adding a sigh. The pen stopped. Angique looked up from the notebook.

"Are you?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "And do you, I wonder?" Both women nodded. Angique put away her notebook. She leant forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, hands folding together.

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

Confusion took Alicia's smile away. Her eyes sought out Anna's, only to find more confusion.

"But," she said — and stopped again.

"Mistress," Anna resumed. "Am I allowed to explain?"

"Ah!" Angique exclaimed with a sudden smile.

"Explanations! I love explanations." The sarcasm made Alicia wince, but Anna plodded on.

"I know that my many weaknesses disgust you, Mistress. I am a spoilt woman. My arrogance has built me an ego that I have become proud of, and whenever I get careless or insecure it gets in the way." She swallowed. A blush flushed her face. "My jealousy was childish, but please don't get tired with me, Mistress. Please find it in your heart to teach me how to conquer my many weaknesses. I love you. It would kill me if you dumped me, although I know I deserve it."

Her voice petered out; it carried a note of desperation. Angique just watched her, saying nothing. Alicia cleared her throat, attracting attention. Her eyes were fixed on a point between her slightly spread knees. Her voice was thick with nervousness.

"Please, Mistress," she said. "Please don't punish Anna for my mistakes. I should have stayed away, but Anna deserves to be yours. I forfeited that place by betraying you. Please forget about me, but don't forsake her. Please, Mistress." She fell silent, swallowing hard as if she was on the brink of vomiting. She cried. The tears messed with her voice as she went on.

"I ruined it for myself, but sweet Mistress, please don't add to my misery by ruining Anna's life as well. She gave up everything for you. She did everything to be worthy of you — to be your slave, your property. Don't kill Anna, don't..." She broke down, sobbing. Her raven hair spread around her as she bent forward, face pressing against the floor.

Angique watched the two of them. Anna showed no emotions now. Her straight back pushed out her tits, her ass cheeks resting on her heels. Her hands lay palms-up on her thighs; her eyes were down. Beside her, Alicia was just a heap of flesh, wrecked with the spasms of her misery.

"Licia," Angique said, making the sobbing stop. "Please tell me, honey, what are you prepared to do if I decide to take the arrogant bitch back?" Tear-smeared eyes looked up from a jungle of hair.

"Anything, Mistress," Alicia breathed. "Anything!" Angique grinned.

"Wow," she said. "Anything sure is a lot, honey cunt. Maybe you could be more, uhm, specific?" Alicia shook her head.

"Anything," she repeated.

Angique reached forward, brushing hair from the girl's face. Her fingers spread the running mascara, turning her into a raccoon.

"You cry so much, honey," she said. "I'd almost think you feel guilty for what you did." An eager light entered Alicia's eyes. She scurried closer.

"But I do, Mistress. I do!"

Angique slapped her face hard, making the girl reel.

"I told you not to call me that, slut," she hissed. "Remember? I am not your Mistress anymore; maybe I never was. Who is your Master, cunt?" Her fingers grabbed Alicia's lower face like a vice. There came no answer. Angique slapped her again.

"Where is He, bitch? Why isn't He with you?"

"I ... I..."

"What did I tell you?"

Slap.

Angique rose to her feet, looking down disgusted.

"You can't save Anna, worthless cunt," she said. "How could you? You can't even save yourself. Now take the other no-good cunt with you and don't bother me again."

Both women looked up at the angry woman — then at each other. They were at a total loss. At last they crawled back, collected their clothes and left Villa. Angique returned to her chair and her notebook. She cursed under her breath.

Winter would be around soon, but inside the Salon the regular visitors and their invited guests ran around half-naked. Halloween has a way of bringing the extreme out in people, just like Mardi Gras and other masked functions. Gary knew how to make the place nice and warm to allow his guests a safe evening of uninhibited exhibition. He also went out of his way to decorate the place as deliciously horrifying as one might expect for the occasion. There were candles and torches, skeletons and ghosts. There also were free drinks to quickly create a pleasant buzz.

Angique hadn't planned on celebrating Halloween. To be honest, she would have preferred to be elsewhere, but she had people to entertain. She hardly ever mixed business with visits to the Club, but tonight she'd made an exception.

Her guests loved to dress up; it was why they were good customers of hers. To be sure the dressing up wasn't just for Halloween. They were full blown transvestites, using Angique's custom made corsets to convince the world of their feminine curves.

One of them was huge, standing six feet four in daring heels. He also weighed about 250 pounds, only part of it bones and muscles. Angique dubbed him Ms Fatty. He made her feel like an engineer when she took up the challenge to fit him with a corset the first time. Designing a good corset wasn't unlike designing Golden Gate Bridge, she thought — you only weren't allowed to show the suspension cables.

Seeing him in drag always made her feel proud. As so many fat people, he had a certain nimbleness about him — a weird, light-footed elegance whenever he decided to become a she and lace himself into a corset.

Her other guest was tall too, but skinny. The only reason he wanted a corset was because of his waist-fetish. He'd even had two lower ribs removed to enhance the wasp-like effect. Angique mused that he could be quite a convincing mature woman if he'd forget about wanting an twenty-inch waist.

Tonight Ms Fatty wore a gold-embroidered green silk corset over a long, straight skirt she stretched with her ample behind. At every step a black sheer nylon clad leg peeped out from a split. The legs ended in five inch heeled, size 12 golden pumps. Her wig was a piled-up heap of platinum, her make up a riot of colors on a chalky-white base. A clever construction inside the corset's top gave her quite a convincing set of tits and cleavage. Green satin opera gloves reached past her elbows.

No one would mistake him for a woman, but his appearance was so theatrically entertaining that it pushed him way past petty doubts of gender. When he wasn't in drag, he was the CEO of an international corporation you might know from the financial pages.

Ms Skinny had opted for the Roaring Twenties in a glittering flapper dress that did justice to her very long and quite feminine white-nylon clad legs. She wore a short auburn wig. It disappeared for the most part into a pearl-gray cloche that hooded her eyes. She walked with excellent nonchalance on her strappy vintage heels, wielding a slim cigarette holder and twirling a silver boa. No one would imagine there was a well-known concert pianist inside the outfit, world-famous for his Beethoven interpretations.

When Angique arrived with her guests, the Halloween party was already under way. She saw the usual contingent of hookers. It made her smile. For the vanilla bunch Halloween always is a safe excuse to dress like the sluts they truly are, Angique supposed.

One of the first hookers she saw was Aura. She sported hardly more than fishnet stockings, a garter belt and a silk red top that fought a losing battle with her spilling tits.

"Hi, Aura," she said, smiling. "Such a pity you decided not to dress up for Halloween this year."

Lee was Count Dracula, of course, just adding a cape to her usual black suit — and an extension to her teeth. She didn't need much either, Angique thought, to look the part.

Angique introduced her guests to the people she knew, amused by their confused reactions. The Salon was a female-only place and although they all knew that Ms Fatty and Ms Skinny weren't female, they were at a loss about what to do. This was Halloween, wasn't it, and they were all in a kind of drag. Angique didn't help by explaining that her "lady friends" had come dressed as transvestites. Betsey was the only one grinning at that. But then again, Betsey had come dressed like a man.

The evening went smoothly. Angique relaxed after noting how easily the crowd accepted her guests. They got more and more popular when they proved to be great dancers as well as fashion lovers and experienced gossips. Ms Skinny was the center of high-pitched praise while playing and singing a number of Noel Coward songs. Angique grinned when she watched her climb the stairs with two very young girls, both scantily dressed as kinky Goth elves. She withdrew to the bar, sipping champagne and chatting with friends. They of course all wanted to know who the two might be, but she just told them they were "friends and business associates" — which they were, in a sense.