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Safe Words 3: Angel's Grace, Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2022-12-17 01:00:01 +0000 UTCGrace’s unsettling command slimmed her mouth and hollowed her thoughts. Everything went dull and distant, like someone wadded cotton in her ears. A sharp stab of betrayal wounded her heart, dissolved all the soft sugary naughtiness of this act and put the copper tang of blood in her mouth. As if from above, she saw herself now in harsh judgment, saw herself through the imaginary eyes of the saner people in her life. Eighteen and naked on her knees before an unknown man, submitting to him as a proxy for the woman she’d thought of as her Mistress. But of course the world was uncaring and cold and she was merely a cog in someone else’s machine, a plaything for a rich man and woman.
Flickering images, awful reminiscences of her last night’s stroll, played in her mind’s theater. Grace’s bare back, ravaged and torn, lined with the marks of vicious injury. She didn’t know Grace. She knew Baron less. What would make a young student obey the command of a woman she had never spoken to other than in courteous small talk? How muscular was the enchantment of Grace and Baron’s lush nobility? If it was strong enough to lure her beyond commonsense vigilance, what did it say of her own character?
And yet, though terrified, she obeyed.
Recoiling to her haunches, she stroked her thighs, studying Diego’s face for an admission of mischief, that the request had been only teasing, but Diego showed steadfast lust. Her heart pounded a steady thrum of doom in her chest, and the image of Diego jostled with each beat. Her eyes stayed locked on his as she rolled to her bottom, a cast of nefarious characters looming all around her sexual partner’s simple throne, watching stone faced as she parted her legs and showed them her most sacred part for a flashing moment before leaning back on her elbows and bringing together the points of her knees.
Was it egotism performing this way for her professor, to garner her professor’s grace, to permit Grace’s noblesse oblige in trade for her sexual purity? Her life in Hager Hill wasn’t one of poverty, but the threat and the fear of imminent ruin was substantial. There must be a defect in her psyche, some poisonous embedded thorn, grown over but inflamed and nurturing toxins that poisoned her rectitude.
Reluctant but resolute, she dragged downward to her waist the points of her elbows on the rug and lowered her back to the floor.
Grace said, “Let him see your womanhood, Angel. Lure him. Command him.”
The cashmere rug, though soft, prickled her back. Her eyes roamed the airy grey armature of the ancient maritime structure. The room felt huge but deathly quiet, like an enormous tomb. Even with her eyes averted, the unseen gazes of her entranced audience caressed her skin. The sticky seal connecting the inner skin of her knees peeled apart as she let her thighs fall open so Diego—and the others—could see what she offered.
“That’s it, Angel, now command him with your gaze. Your submission is your command.”
Her brow wriggled at the conundrum of two things she thought of as opposite—but she regarded Diego now, this sultry bronze prince, whose penis had swollen larger and straighter, sitting upright in his lap, touching near his sternum. A shiny trickle rolled from the tip to collect in the scrotal cistern created by his resting balls. His skin shone in a velvety glaze of excitement. At Sarah Jasper’s light touch on his shoulder, Diego rose from sitting to stand in front of the throne, towering above her. His skin was tight, his lean muscle rippling under the skin; his penis wagged in front of him in slow metronomic strokes. She held her breath as the swell of fright rose within her again.
She felt alone and far away. Far away from home and from the people who cared for her. In a room with strangers, no one knew where she was. She’d disconnected herself from all those bonds in her life, small and large. Her mother believed her to be visiting Sixian; her teammates knew nothing; her roommate, her closest friend outside of Hager Hill, knew nothing. They’d all been lied to. Her parents, her sister, all oblivious. Even Brian, he of the ominous iPhone tracker, had his sticky tendrils severed from her life. No one but Grace and Baron and the strangers in this room knew where she was. She trusted Grace without Grace’s effort to earn it from her. Angel had offered up trust with little circumspection. And now here she was, and no one knew. Grace and Baron had tricked her into isolation like cult leaders, and the people in this room could get away with doing anything to her. Killing her. Torturing her. Dismembering her. The sight of Grace’s scars scored across her mind’s eye once more. Even if Grace had requested those marks from Baron—as the woman from the mansion named Kelly had asked Baron—to fulfill a fantasy, what monster must Baron be to mark a woman that way? No matter Grace’s sexual satisfaction, whatever darkness lurked inside her, the act of harming someone in such a way was immoral, cruel, and in no way imaginable could one argue it as an act of love.
And she’d merely accepted Grace’s word for it that the woman named Kelly had ever even asked at all for her terrible treatment. Angel had never followed up for a confirmation.
And yet she remained on her back on the floor with her legs open, showing her vagina, looking up with pleading eyes, signifying to Diego, who stepped closer, that she needed what he had. That she needed that hard, straight thing bobbing between his legs pushed into her body to relieve her of her tortuous feminine heat.
Grace’s heels tapped on the hardwood floor, growing silent as she crossed onto the carpet to stand nearby, removed, yet ever-present. She said to Diego, “Get on your knees before my Angel’s offering.”
Diego’s eyes never came away from Angel’s as he lowered to his knees, thin but muscular arms hanging apishly at his sides. He was boyishly handsome; rugged but gentrified, sharp-jawed and sly.
Grace stepped nearer, but Angel avoided looking her way, only registering in her periphery her Mistress’s long legs and expensive shoes. Grace said to Diego now, “Bow before her offering.”
Diego smiled crooked, eyes sparkling in the cold gray light, then bowed himself before Angel’s parted legs, putting his hands on the cashmere rug and lowering his face near her exposed vagina, eyes never straying from Angel’s. He looked like he loved every second of submitting to the two powerful women who held his command.
Grace whispered, “Look how she gushes for you.”
Diego chuckled and light gusts batted Angel’s slickness and got her knees moving in and out in anticipation. She stayed in the moment for her Mistress, though she waged fierce inner battle against the urge to bite her lips and her cheeks, and wriggle her anxious and sweaty fingers together protectively across her stomach like when she lay in a dentist’s chair.
Grace said to Diego, “Have you seen a wetter young pussy?”
Diego shook his head in slow wags, chuckling again, eyes narrowing in an almost malevolent lust. Angel shivered from that revelation. Diego wanted to fuck her. And his desire was a storm inside him. The commands of the two Mistresses held his male sexual wrath at bay, and if they weren’t in the room, he would impale her, drive his long penis inside her and ram it home again and again. Her lips trembled at the thought—and it exposed a relief she felt for her Mistress’s presence. Grace made her safe.
It reminded her of something else: it wasn’t money or trappings she wished to exchange with Grace. No, it was to be imbued with a shade of the woman’s power that put her on the floor with her legs open this way. That was why she trusted Grace. Because of Grace’s power and tutelage.
With surprising new resolve, Angel smiled at Diego, doing it wistfully, lustily, reminding her partner that, yes, she needed that long brown thing he was so proud of inside her. Needed it deep inside her if she wanted rid of her cruel feminine urges. She was just a young virgin waif in need of what this man—and only this man—offered.
“Oh, my Angel,” Grace sighed in a tone of admiration, liking what Angel had conjured from the frightful well within. “You’re so perfect.”
Angel bit her lower lip—not out of anxiousness, as was her norm, but out of purposeful provocation. Like she couldn’t stand this heartbeat of a moment before Diego offered the long and hard solution to her poor sexual complication.
Grace stepped closer to Angel’s shoulder, then squatted at her side. She brushed the backs of her fingers on Angel’s cheek. “Look in his eyes, Angel. Give yourself to him. Look in his eyes like you submit to him, like you want to give him everything you’ve got.”
Now Angel writhed—though it wasn’t an act for Diego, it was a natural reaction to her Mistress’s affection and caress. But she played it for her male partner.
Then Grace’s hand was gone, her Mistress resting both forearms over her knees and regarding the side of Diego’s handsome face. “You know what she’s offering you?”
Diego nodded, but Angel knew that wasn’t the answer her Mistress sought, and sensed Grace’s aggravation in the change in her breathing and the shift in her posture.
“I don’t think you do. You’re pussy-struck.”
Diego’s smile faltered.
Grace said, “I don’t blame you one bit. Look down at what she has.”
Diego broke their combined gazes’ connection and let his eyes drift to the throbbing space between Angel’s parted thighs. He cocked his head and admired her pussy. Angel moaned and humped it toward him in total sexual autonomy; not from her brain’s instruction, not an act provoked from her Mistress’s command, but raw sexual need.
“Angel, present it to him the way I’ve shown you.” Grace hadn’t regarded her as she spoke, only staring at Diego.
Angel brought her hands from the floor and swept them across her tummy on the way to her vagina. Oh, she was very wet. Soaking. Her hands crossed over to the opposite sides of her vagina and she slipped the pads of her pinky fingers in latitudinal strokes along her labia. When she was sure she had Diego’s full attention, she plied the labia apart to show him how pink and wet she was. A fresh warm trickle flowed between her butt cheeks. Diego’s expression tightened to one of immeasurable desire. The male animal lurking behind his rib cage batted at the cage bars, wanting unleashed, wanting to ravage her female perfection.
Her impact on this beautiful young man—who she would never have had the courage to speak to if she met him at school—brought a smile to her face. But there was something in her own smile she didn’t like; that unnerved her. Glumness tinged her smile. At this realization, gloom clouded her eyes, and she went tearful. She’d survived this power exchange, had perhaps been deemed the champion over her opponent, and yet, the spoils of this war would go to Diego.
Grace said, “That beautiful slick has been untouched. No man has entered it. She’s offering you the most sacred value she holds. Are you worthy, Diego?”
Diego growled and his eyes returned to Angel’s. She saw nothing there but baleful male conquest. He’d objectified her, turned her into a thing to be rutted. The veins stood out on his strong arms like cables and he flexed his muscles; a pool of warmth fell on to her belly and she looked between them to see his cock spilling male lubrication onto her skin.
Grace cooed, “You do know it,” riled by the sight of Diego’s cock spewing his lust onto Angel’s tummy.
“My, my,” she said now, her voice a hoarse and cruel whisper. “Look how deep you would go.”
Diego thrust his hips forward, lowering them, letting the shiny, slippery point of his cock head touch Angel’s skin. Grace slipped her elegant hand between them, her long fingers curling around Diego’s shaft, caressing, squeezing, producing a steady stream of his lubrication and aiming it to fill the cup of Angel’s navel. Her finger stroked the topside of Diego’s cock, nosing the head to press into the pool of his pre-come that had filled her belly button, overfilling it, squashing in and pushing his fluids over the edge. When she slid the tip in a protracted circle around her navel, Angel groaned again out of sheer and almost unbearable ecstasy.
Grace repeated, “Are you worthy?”
Diego nodded, eye-locked with Angel. Tears spilled from Angel’s squinted eyes, but she remained faithful to the devotion to Diego her Mistress commanded from her, teeth gritted, sniffling, shaking and shivering. She whimpered and blinked away the wet, her mind torn up by desire and need and lust and pure sorrow. Diego wasn’t to be her first man. But she would submit to him for her beloved Mistress. Submit, though her heart wanted more; wanted something significant. But her devotion to her Mistress was larger than her selfish desires.
“Yes,” Grace sighed. “You’ll go very deep. My Angel likes larger men, but too much girth for her first man would be too much. You are armed with the perfect weapon.”
Grace guided Diego’s hips back with one hand on his waist, her other holding Diego’s dripping erection. She stroked it with her fist, getting the entire length shining with Diego’s excitement. She aimed the cock head between Angel’s thighs, then stroked it up and down against Angel’s opening. White blots of regretful quicksilver flashed in Angel’s vision and she winced and whimpered, ready to receive Diego as her first.
