Chapter 32: Shame Is Such a Useless Emotion

Did the flood of tears wash away Alicia's sins? Angique chuckled at the biblical metaphor. Sins? Who was the sinner here anyway, Alicia or she? Nevertheless, the girl seemed to have changed. For better or worse, for now or for good, who could say? And did she care? Angique had to admit that she did.

Which didn't mean that Alicia's tears washed away the promised punishment for the pain she caused —≠ no doubt about that. The humiliation she bestowed on the one she called Mistress could not be overlooked. But it should never be just revenge for revenge's sake. The timing of the punishment should serve the one and only goal that mattered — speeding up the Journey.

The hurt lover in Angique longed to strike out and soothe her wounded ego. The cool-headed Mistress won, however — for now that is.

Alicia visited her almost daily now, crawling naked and oiled into Villa, presenting her ass in perfect submission. More often than not did they spend afternoons and evenings filled with romantic love — eating, drinking and having slow, never ending sex. They shared baths and brushed each other's hair, making up each other's faces, massaging each other's bodies. Angique dressed the girl in outrageous outfits and taught her how to strip of them seductively. It was all sweet, sweaty, giggling fun.

But every once in a while Angique made sure the girl opened her door to quite a different kind of lover — the dark and moody Mistress that made her shudder and urged her to take part in painful and humiliating acts — acts that embarrassed her greatly, while they at the same time caused juices to trickle down her inner thighs — which increased her embarrassment — which increased her arousal, and so on in a vicious, delicious circle.

One evening they lay on the huge, pillow-strewn bed, their spent bodies glowing. Angique's finger drew lazy circles in the film of sweat that coated the girl's skin. She smiled into Alicia's face.

"I love you, you know?" she said, deepening the girl's blush. "I love to make love to you — kissing you, spreading your legs and licking your slick, swollen cunt lips; tasting your clit; whipping your juices into a foam, hearing the twitter of your birdlike moans." She smiled wider, twisting the pierced nipple.

"But that is not enough. Come here." She sat up, spreading her legs to invite the girl between them. Alicia cuddled up like a child, her face on Angique's belly, her hair fanned out on the pale skin.

"Loving you doesn't mean I don't have needs myself," Angique went on, her fingers raking the tresses. Alicia's eyes peered through them.

"I love to pleasure you in any way, Mistress," she whispered, bending to peck Angique's navel with her pouted lips.

"I know, honey," Angique said. "But there is still too much holding you back." The girl started to protest, but Angique's finger sealed her mouth.

"I know you do about anything for me between these safe and private walls. And I love how you do it; you are amazing. As a lover you satisfy me completely. But you have to be more than just my perfect lover — in more places than just this Villa." Angique smiled into the widening, deep brown eyes.

"I need you to be my slave, honey; my property — totally under my control. We both know it is who you really are in the end, but do you have the guts to show the world?"

There was a long and breathless silence in the room. Angique's fingers kept combing the black mane spread on her belly. The girl's mouth worked, but there were no words. Then she swallowed and cleared her throat.

"What do you want me to do, Mistress?" she said.

There are bars and bars. Many are warm and hospitable, but some are just charmless — maybe because there never was the need to make them look inviting. Or maybe every effort just shattered, long ago — who's to know? Anyway, the bar Angique entered with her girl that afternoon was easily the nastiest booze-hole Alicia ever saw. No nice girl in her right mind would have set one foot inside it. And yet, here she was.

It was dark inside, clouded with a mist of exhaled tobacco smoke, reeking with the stench of spilled beer. It must have impregnated the blackened walls and muddy floor for ages. The stale mixture wafted in their faces when they entered. After blinking her eyes twice, Alicia saw a long wooden bar that might have already been old and worn down half a century ago. It was strewn with dirty glasses, bottles, peanut shells and overflowing ashtrays. A number of men leaned against it or sat perched on rickety stools. A swath of daylight entered with the women. It wasn't appreciated.

"Close that door!" a smoker's voice rasped from the darkness. Then the men saw what had entered, and the murmur of their voices died down. Only a thumping rhythm of canned music kept filling the poisoned air.

Harshly lit faces turned to the entrance, where the silhouettes of two women were cut out against the light — one petite, the other taller. The low sun painted a halo around their bodies until the door mercifully closed, restoring the gloom. Weakly lit by the bar's lamplights, a scantily clad girl stood, swaying on plastic platform heels. They had the same garish hot pink color as her tiny mini dress — which was a crotch-long t-shirt, really. Behind her was a taller woman. She was clad entirely in black, which made her face seem to float in darkness like the pale head of a ghost. The woman's hands were on the shoulders of the girl, turning her towards the men. She brought her mouth to her ear, whispering. The girl nodded, her eyes huge puddles of darkness. She hesitantly took one step forward. Then she reached down and started raising the short pink dress with both hands, slowly uncovering her naked body. Every eye followed her movement — all male. Beside the thumping music there was no sound to be heard.

As her hands rose, Alicia felt the flimsy fabric slide over her skin — her hips, her belly, her excited nipples. The dress was all she had been allowed to wear and although the air was stifling, she shivered when more and more of her skin got exposed. Conflicting feelings entered her mind when the dress at last rose over her face. The more she covered her face, the more she exposed her body. It gave her an illusion of privacy — like a child pretending the world doesn't exist when you close your eyes.

Inside the tiny tent of the dress's fabric she heard the increasing murmur of male voices as her breasts were exposed. She also heard Angique's voice by her ear, pushing her to go on, praising her courage. Two warm, soft hands started caressing her. They rose from her thighs, up her bare sides and down again — then up again until they cupped her breasts. Her breathing increased, clinging to her face like a hot, damp mist.

"Lose the dress, honey," the voice whispered. "Be proud. Show them your body; you look good." And even though part of her still struggled against it, her hands moved up again and the bar's lights peeked from under the hem. Maybe twenty faces stared at her as she felt her hair fall back down on her shoulders — warm and heavy. Her arms sunk down her sides and the dress rustled as it fell to the dirty floor. She was naked. There wasn't a stitch left to protect her from the hungry eyes.

She shuddered — but she stood.

"Walk up to them," the voice by her ear told her. A new wave of fear engulfed her, but she took one hesitant step, feeling her ankle wobble as she put weight on the tall pink heel and the hoof-like platform sole of her whorish, plastic sandal. Then she changed to the other foot, noticing how walking made her ass cheeks roll. Her gaze left the hungry male stares to settle on the more innocent multicolored wall of bottles over the bar. She noticed the shifting of delicate bones and sinews in her feet with each precarious step. She felt the muscles in her calves and thighs, the tug on her free swinging breasts — tits. Yes, they were most certainly tits now.

When she reached halfway she heard Angique call out for her to stop. She did so at once, a small sigh of relief escaping her lips. She stood with her arms down her sides, closing her eyes. From the back of her private darkness came her lover's voice, telling her to turn around and walk back to her. A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she obeyed and returned to Angique. A sudden bout of newfound courage made her exaggerate the sway of her ass, to the audible delight of her audience.

Her feeling of relief was horribly premature, however. When she reached Angique again, she bent her knees to pick up the dropped dress. But when she started to slip it on again, Angique ripped it from her hands. Right before her eyes she tore it up, making the sound of the tearing fabric silence the onlookers.

"What on earth do you think, bitch?" she asked Alicia, who stood in stunned silence. "Did I tell you to dress? We've only started, cunt. Now clear the hair away from your brow." The rude connotations made Alicia jump to obey. Angique produced a black marker and started writing on the girl's forehead. It was impossible for Alicia to guess what she was writing, but in the end she felt a line being drawn down the bridge of her nose. There were two short diagonal lines added at the end, like an arrow. Angique admired her work for a few seconds. Then she urged Alicia to push out her chest and started writing on the upper curve of her unpierced tit. It was hard for the girl to read the upside-down lettering, but when Angique finished with a black arrow pointing to her nipple, she understood. SUCK ME HERE, PLEASE the words read. Angique wrote another line over her pierced nipple. TWEAK ME HERE, PLEASE it said, once more ending with an arrow. She felt a fiery blush flush her face and chest. But the marker was already writing on her lower belly and shaven mound. Alicia tucked in her midriff to read OFF LIMITS, PLEASE in bold black letters. The added arrow stopped at the top of her slit. Alicia slowly shook her head left and right. She felt her eyes burn in their sockets.

"M-mistress," she stammered. "Please..."

"Yes," Angique chuckled, looking up. "Always say please; it is so much nicer."

Angique rose from her squatting position, catching the girl's desperate eyes.

"No need to thank me, honey," she said. "You know how stupid men are. We always have to point things out to them." She smiled. Then she took the terrified girl in her arms and kissed her hard.

"I love you, Licia," she said. "Now turn around and meet your fans." Alicia was too petrified to move, so Angique grabbed her shoulders and pointed her once more in the direction of the men. Catcalls and rude remarks suddenly filled the choking air. The written instructions had obviously broken the spell. Angique slapped the girl's ass.

"Walk, slut!" she hissed. And Alicia walked.

She moved with the grace of a robot, the dreamlike distraction of a sleepwalker. There was a voice inside her asking why on earth she did this — why on earth was she here at all? There was another voice screaming meaningless sounds, and another one just sobbing. And then there was a voice that wasn't a voice at all, just an urge — a wordless need that pushed her along, even though she shook and trembled. She walked on top of her shaking whore hooves, closing in on her audience but never seeing them. She moved in a mist until she felt callous hands on her tits and her ass and her belly. They caressed and fondled her, pinching and probing.

And to her mortifying, unspeakable embarrassment she soon climaxed hard and kept coming as she fell into a multi fingered cradle of grabbing hands. They seemed to carry her, lifting her onto a floating shield of white-hot ecstasy. Her tits were mangled; her ass was slapped and pinched. Other hands now weighed down on her shoulders and when the first angry, swollen cock hit her in the face, she knew what Angique had written on her forehead.

Alicia opened her mouth.

Angique cradled the limp body in her arms, letting hot, fragrant water slosh around it. She murmured sweet nothings, even hummed a wordless song.