Chapter 39: Back, and No Way Back

The French lily was less than two inches tall. It sat on the back of her right hip where only its tip would show from under regular cotton panties. The hurt and the swelling had mostly gone. It wasn't the pain that kept her feeling mad; or even the permanent marking of her skin. On the contrary, she admitted that it was quite pretty. But what she couldn't accept, was the violation; she felt abused, used like mindless cattle. She felt raped and above all, betrayed.

In the end it was her pride that got hurt the most.

She remembered recovering from passing out. She lay stretched out on a soft mattress, belly down. First thing she felt was the muted pain in her right ass cheek. She reached for it, but a hand stopped her.

"Not yet, honey," a voice said. It was Angique's. Alicia looked up to meet her face.

"What did you do to me?" she asked. "Did you burn me?"

"I branded you, Licia," the woman said. "I gave you my mark of the Lily; you'll never have to wonder where you belong anymore — you are mine now; all mine. I'll protect you with my life." Alicia rose on her elbow, looking for the brand.

"Careful, honey, it's still tender," Angique said. The wound looked angry, red and swollen. A hot flash of anger rose from Alicia's chest.

"Fuck you!" she screamed, pushing away Angique's hands and scrambling to her feet. "What did you think? You had no right! You never even asked me, okay? You raped me!"

"But... ," Angique began. Alicia cut off her words.

"You must be fucking crazy!" she cried. "You, you just burnt that thing into me, okay? Never asking ... never ... it will forever ... I'll be..." She burst into tears, her arms flailing, her fists hitting Angique. The woman grabbed them. Then she embraced the crying girl, hugging her tightly. She didn't remind Alicia that she'd asked her to agree. She hated being on the defense; it was so far beside the point, wasn't it? She saw it might take a while before Alicia would be able to listen anyway. She kissed the girl's hair, rocking her softly.

"I love you," she whispered.

Minutes later, Alicia left Angique in a cloud of sobs and angry accusations. She climbed the stone stairs, got dressed again in Villa and took the elevator down. She avoided the Salon, running straight to her car to drive home. Tears blurred her vision and she winced each time her burnt flesh moved on the seat. It's over, she knew, it's so very definitely over.

Thinking that opened new sluices.

A week went by — Alicia spent its first days and nights in simmering indignation, even hatred for the woman who'd violated her. But those days and nights were lonely — lonelier even than before. She had neglected most of her friends spending so much time at the Club. And many of her business relations had faded for the same reason. Anyway, there were a lot of people she dared not contact after the awful things she and Angique did at the priest's home. She was alone, sad, insecure and isolated.

But however hard she tried, Alicia couldn't keep up her anger. At first only a few times a day, then more often she got to her bathroom, inspecting the flower brand while twisting her body in front of the mirror. The spidery lines had tightened and turned dark, standing out against her smooth, tanned ass cheek. It had a relief that she could trace with her fingertips. Even in the dark of the night, lying in bed, she could 'read' the shape of the flower. And each time she did, the brand's true meaning sent a thrill through her body. She felt a subtle tingling — as if there was a direct connection from her caressing fingertip to the nerve endings in her clit and nipples.

Images flooded her mind when she saw or felt the brand. And with them a craving seeped in — a need to surrender, to be used, to be with the one that owned her. She hated it when that happened, but it happened every time — and each time the feelings grew stronger. Soon she had to admit that she started looking and touching only to feel the tingling and the flowing of her cunt. She cursed under her breath, but she also whispered the name of the woman who'd branded her — who'd claimed her as her own.

She realized that the only reason for her loneliness was her refusal to be where she knew she belonged now. She had burnt bridges. It made her cry out in frustration.

Emptying another bottle of wine, her mind wallowed in a hazy world filled with cotton and sweet gossamer spun all around her. Could she even begin to consider going back to Villa? She shuddered, thinking of all the harsh curses she had hurled at Angique. Her fingers fumbled with the slick shaft of the riding crop she pressed between her tits — Angelthorn was a cruel but true companion. She inhaled its ancient smell and lowered her lips to its knob, softly sucking on it. She must have whispered to it for quite a while before she realized what she was doing.

"Please," she said, fondling the worn leather. "Please tell me she'll take me back. I have been stupid once again. Tell me I can go back to her; that she'll forgive me." She sucked the shaft's ending, letting it slide onto the curl of her tongue. Her left hand crawled down her belly, her fingers finding the clit inside the top of her shaven folds. Her cunt wept slow, sweet tears.

After she shuddered through a deep, booze-numbed climax, she sagged back onto her bed. She sighed into the darkness surrounding her. What am I doing, she asked herself. I shouldn't be doing this. I am an adult woman, a free, intelligent businesswoman. I have been married and lived in sane, mature relationships. I'll go out first thing in the morning and apologize to my friends, to the priest and to my customers. I'll find excuses; they'll take me back and things will be as they were again — as they were again; as they...

Once more her lips closed around the moist leather. She ran the knob down her chest and belly, leaving a snail's trace on her skin. She gasped sharply as she watched the shaft enter her cunt — a slender cock it was, a black, slippery cock. Her hips gyrated. The fingers of her free hand traced the outlines of the branded lily. She saw its elegant image light up behind closed eyelids and once more she came with an intensity that blacked her out.

Being away from Angique felt to Alicia like kicking a habit, cold turkey and alone, fruitlessly numbed with wine. It was hard to keep focused on her intentions. She felt like an ocean swimmer — one moment rising on a wave, seeing a distant coastline on a shimmering horizon; next moment drowning in the cold, deep green water, all purpose forgotten. But she'd rise again, gasping, spluttering, filled with the certainty that one day she might be over there again, feeling at home, being accepted by her neighbors and friends — hugging the dull but so very safe life she'd been used to. It was what her sanity urged her to go for. But did she really want that life? If so, why did even the thought of it make her lose confidence? Where did this feeling of incompleteness come from? Why this fear of being lonely — so very lonely?

While struggling she was appalled by her repeating need to go back to Angique. Why feel that? Going back would mean losing whatever she still had, wouldn't it? Forever? So why this ache to surrender? Why fall back into the sweet velvet hole behind those emerald eyes and succumb to the hypnotizing voice of the woman?

Could she hang on and stay away from Angique? Was she prepared to pay the prize for restoring her pride: a sane but utterly bored, unsatisfied and lonely life? Deep down she knew she couldn't — it was as if she'd accept to live with one arm, one leg and one eye. Could she even exist inside this fractured being, knowing that her pride would keep her incomplete forever?

She whispered the questions, but knew the answer. It was an answer she feared and hated, but could only embrace — like soft flesh embracing barbed wire, recoiling from the expected pain, yet knowing she could not shy away. She sighed.

Why did she crave to return to Angique and lose herself forever? Was it because she wanted to be lost — needed to be lost? She moaned as she felt her fingers slip into her cunt again.

The glaring lights were as cold as the conditioned air that blew on Alicia's skin, raising goose bumps. The supermarket was a labyrinth. She just stood and stared at the colorful multitude of articles without finding what she was looking for ≠— only to realize she was staring right at it. Absent-mindedly she picked up a box of dried pasta, her thoughts in a distant place while her body dragged her through boring reality.

"Licia!" It was a familiar voice sounding from the back — a voice bearing sweet, lost memories of normalcy. She turned, shaking her mind free from webs of thought.

"Paula," she said, plying her lips into a smile.

"Been too long," the woman exclaimed. She ran over and they hugged. "How are you sweetie?" she went on. "I missed you terribly. Where have you been?"

The woman was slightly taller than Alicia. She had brown, half long hair and a healthy complexion. Her face reflected a calm, no-nonsense openness; so very different from the exotic complexity of her petite friend.

They had been close, ever since high school — as close as Alicia's demons allowed. Maybe it was their many differences that glued them together. Although Paula would never understand Alicia's chaotic, self-destructive path through life, it held a dark attraction for her. There was a mystery surrounding the Arab girl that totally contrasted with Paula's down-to-earth New England views of life — and it enthralled her. Licia also had a vulnerability that appealed to her protective instincts.

Alicia, on the other hand, had always been drawn to Paula's rock-like solidity. Whenever she'd stumbled around in the swirling clouds of her confusion, she'd found comfort in the woman's healthy, clear view of life. In her years with Rob she had selfishly neglected Paula, but in the turbulent times of betrayal and consequent divorce the woman had been there to listen and comfort her, to give advice and just dry her tears. So now again she had neglected her while fucking her way through the Club's delicatessen.

"Found a new love, sweetie?" Paula asked, laughing. Ah, she knew the girl well. Just as she understood what the sudden tears in Alicia's eyes meant — another call to be comforted against the cruelties of the world.

They had coffee in the mall's plastic coffee corner. After stemming Alicia's incessant flood of sorry's and self-deprecating remarks on what a neglectful person she had been, they at last succeeded in starting a conversation.

Paula knew about Alicia's lesbian inclinations — first hand. After getting tipsy at one of the many heart-to-hearts during Alicia's murky divorce, the girl had suddenly kissed her. There had been lots of tongue and moaned 'I love you's.' All in all it was an embarrassing moment never spoken about again — luckily it didn't break up their friendship. They'd mercifully had the alibi of being drunk and it had served them well.

Of course there had been Rita, later on, but even then Paula doubted that her old friend would suddenly have turned lesbian. She wrote it off as a response to the shock of her divorce and the general disgust of men that might be the result. She even knew about Carmela, although Alicia never introduced her to the woman. What she had no idea of were the girl's adventures at the Club — or the steady slide into a darkness she would never be able to fathom, let alone understand.

She knew about what happened with the priest — if only as much as the town's gossip allowed. The housekeeper had found the man half naked and tied up in a chair. He never told her what happened. From her kitchen she'd seen two women visiting and she'd recognized Alicia from church. When Paula heard the rumor first, she'd been stunned. She still had a hard time believing it, but was reluctant to ask Alicia.

When she finally did, the response was dramatic. Looking up she saw Alicia gasp like a drowning fish. Her wide eyes brimmed with tears, rapidly gushing down her cheeks. By then she collapsed, her face dropping forward on the plastic tabletop. She cried with abandon, like a child. At first Paula was too shaken with the effect her question obviously had on her friend, but then she reached out and held the crying girl, uttering small sounds of comfort.