Safe Words 3: Angel's Grace, Chapter 9

Through her ceaseless trembling she became aware of movement around her. Diego did not yet push inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could and warm tears rolled her temples and trickled into her hairline, tickling behind her ears. Her whole body had seized tight as a stone statue, laying on her back in a vulgar pose even the most salacious sculptor would never carve; knees up to her chest, legs open, arms crossed on her chest in almost clerical repose.

She waited and waited, afraid to look and have someone’s eyes meet hers; it could set off a fireworks storm of terrible emotion. Diego shifted and cooler air pooled between her thighs and against the wet of her vagina. He’d moved away.

She opened one eye and saw a blurry-wet image of Grace guiding Diego backward with a hand on his smooth, tanned chest. Then she looked Angel’s way and their eyes met. There was no way to stop the thundering earthquake of emotional release. Her lips wriggled and her eyes squinted. New tears flowed and her body was wracked with choking sobs she stifled by cupping her hand over her mouth. Grace smiled and shushed her soothingly, reaching to cup a hand behind Angel’s neck, her hand warm and careful. Grace guided her to sit up, and when she was seated, knees together and hiding from everyone her sex, Grace removed her fine twill jacket and settled it over Angel’s back and shoulders, cocooning her, snugging the lapels under Angel’s chin.

With the curved bend of her wrist Angel wiped at her eyes, drying them, sniffling and composing herself. Diego kneeled a few feet back, worried about her emotional collapse, his erect penis undeterred by his partner’s tears, upright and skin-tight, one hand gripping and squeezing. More clear liquid pulsed from the tip and rolled down his well-formed knuckles.

Grace rose, stepped out of her penny loafers and then moved behind Angel, sitting with her legs on either side, curling her arms around Angel’s shoulders and cuddling her. She’d never felt more protected. Even though a gray hurricane stormed through her heart, in Grace’s caring arms she felt secured and cared for. Of course this spectacle with Diego had been a test. It had been a convincing one, but her virginity was too special to sacrifice to an unknown partner. Her wracked sobs became inexplicable chuckles, and she groaned and whimpered, writhing deeper into Grace’s wonderful clutch, wanting to disappear inside her Mistress’s luxurious coat, the amber silk lining caressing her naked skin, Grace’s beautiful scent comforting her.

The spectators watched from behind the throne. The young women were blank-eyed and unreadable; Sarah Jasper’s eyes were appraising, her expression placid, but a smile curling up one side of her mouth and dimpling her cheek. Angel averted her gaze from them, her cheek now touching Grace’s cheek. She whispered, “I will do whatever you tell me, Mistress. You just have to tell me to do it. I don’t want to be tested.”

“Challenges are part of the relationship, Angel,” Grace said in a quiet tone. “I’m sorry if everything isn’t perfect for you.”

Angel jolted, wounded, trying to turn, but Grace held her in a tight embrace. “I’m not like that,” Angel said. “I don’t want everything to be perfect—I just don’t want to be hurt.”

Grace pressed her cheek against Angel’s, her Mistress’s lashes tickling her skin with their blinking. “No, I mean what I say, Angel. I’m sorry everything isn’t perfect for you. That’s the way I wish it. But there are things I must do. Do you understand?”

Angel sighed and her head sagged away from Grace’s. But when cool air touched her cheek where Grace’s had rested, Angel returned her head upright, not wanting to be apart from Grace right now.

Sarah Jasper’s hypnotized expression cleared, and she turned to face the girl with the beautiful mane of hair, nudged her chin at her, and the girl went into action, stepping behind the other girl and coming around on to the carpet. Grace flicked her chin to Diego, who also now came out of his spell, and he looked over his shoulder to watch the girl with the hair assume his place at the throne. But instead of sitting, she faced the chair, leaned to grip both the arms and planted one knee on the seat. She looked over her shoulder as Diego rose, still holding his long, hard penis, and joining the girl, who put her hand back to raise her skirt. Grace and Angel watched Diego bring down the young woman’s tights, revealing her caramel haunch and naked ass. She wore no panties. Her labia shone with wet in the gray light. The girl’s petals weren’t pink, but a shade like milk chocolate. The provocative sight stirred new arousal in Angel, the swelling, sexual feeling pushing away some of the hurt, some of the angst. A knot of desire tightened within her; an undeniable attraction to the Black girl’s beauty and poise.

“I wouldn’t give your treasure to Diego, my Angel,” Grace whispered by her ear, her Mistress’s words tickling her auricle and tightening her nipples. “As beautiful as he is.”

Angel snuggled into Grace, both of them watching. Sarah Jasper had rewarded Diego for his service in Grace’s ruse by offering the Black girl to him to relieve the pressure the game had provoked in him. He wouldn’t be able to hide his thing away in those slim-fitting khakis he wore—maybe not even do the zipper up.

Grace’s hand slipped under the folded hem of her jacket, caressing over the top of Angel’s thigh, headed between her legs. Angel moaned and slumped, but couldn’t get any closer to Grace than she already was. Her breaths came in quick chuffs as Grace plucked and played with her shorn pubic hair, teasing her, glossy nails dragging on her skin. Diego fisted his eager penis, nudged the tip into the nestled brown folds of the girl’s labia, let go his shaft and eased the head of his cock inside her. The girl’s leg bent higher, the knee pressing into the cushion, her glossy loafer raising as she accommodated Diego’s intrusion. Her head swayed back, showing off her long, elegant throat, her mouth opening, lips peeling back and showing white teeth.

Grace said, “I read your diary. I know what you wish.”

Angel gasped and moaned as Grace’s elegant fingers slipped across her opening like they were slick with oil, teasing her with light strokes that implied further sexual torment.

“Baron will grant that wish,” Grace whispered, then nibbled on Angel’s earlobe, getting her writhing with lusty discomfort. That urge swelled again inside her, that need of being filled, of being claimed. She’d confessed in her diary what she wanted, and Grace had read her secrets.

“I’m sorry,” Angel moaned, her eyes narrowing on Diego and the girl, arranging themselves for copulation.

“Sorry for what?”

Diego’s length sunk inside the girl and Angel was entranced by her reaction; the way her head tilted higher, her eyes closing, lashes fluttering, the transmogrification of her expression to something akin to pain or sorrow, twisting further then to tortured pleasure. The girl took almost all Diego had to offer. He withdrew, then plunged once more, this time his shimmering cock spearing her deep and fast, any friction greased away by their mutual lubrication.

Angel gasped, “What I did with . . .”

“Skyler?”

“Yes,” Angel sighed.

“You were a bad girl.”

Angel’s thighs trembled and quivered. “Are you . . . p-punishing me?”

“If you claim you’re sorry, you know you were bad.”

Angel clamped her lips with her teeth as Diego slid up the girl’s sweater and shirt, revealing the small of her back, the narrow of her waist. There was something incredibly erotic about how the girl was revealed: fully clothed in sedate but expensive clothing, then the cleaving of her outfit, a split across her middle meant for one purpose; access to her reproductive entrance. A finely dressed and polite young woman reduced to sexual function, bared through the middle for Diego, so he could relieve the throbbing arousal Angel had provoked. In some ways, it was her own fault the beautiful girl had to endure this—though she seemed to do so willingly.

“I was so bad,” Angel said.

“You made my man hard.”

“I did,” she squeaked, a wild shiver racing up her back as Grace’s dirty words tickled at her ear again and her fingers massaged at her entrance, tips beginning to stroke deeper.

“You made Diego hard.”

She nodded in fast strokes. “Did I do okay?”

“You were wonderful,” Grace answered, her long middle finger easing inside Angel, blossoming pure pleasure behind her eyes. “But don’t ever touch a man without my permission.” Grace slid her two middle fingers inside Angel now, the inside curl of her digits mashing against her clitoris, kneading it. Angel’s head lolled before returning to press cheeks with Grace again.

“I won’t—I swear I won’t. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

“Yes you will, Angel, yes you will.”

Then on the verge of release, Grace ended her manual pleasuring, her fingers withdrawing, slipping over her mound, scratching on the rough patch of pubic hair, getting Angel humping her hips with discontent, complaining in her throat of being brought so close yet not delivered.

“We’re going to the spa now, my Angel,” she whispered. “A massage, a grooming”—she patted Angel’s throbbing wet mound—“then a long lunch. When we return here, we’ll dress you.”

Angel panted and sagged against Grace’s embrace. Her heart pounded in her chest. She raised an arm and reached behind her to hold Grace’s neck, the two of them in a perverted maternal embrace watching the young man she’d aroused take out his sexual fever on another innocent in the command of a different Mistress.

Diego’s lean and muscular body shone in the pale light; his long bladed thigh muscles flexed as he pounded the Black girl from behind, her shaggy mane of spirals fanned across her back and swaying over her shoulder. Diego’s own coiled hair danced over his brow. His dark scrotum swung with his thrusts, his hips batted the girl’s bottom—she was taking every inch of his long penis—and her lean flesh shook each time. A high keening sound came from her throat as the pleasure of Diego’s deep spearing overwhelmed her. Her head rocked forward and hung there, her hair slashing against the chair. She’d orgasmed. The grip she held on the chair’s arms shook and she softly cried with pleasure. Her sex flooded; a shine glossed her ass cheeks, and her wet dripped from Diego’s swinging testicles. He thrust faster and faster, growling and grunting, his hands gripping the girl’s thin waist. Then he was stabbing, roaring and holding himself impaled all the way inside the girl. Bucking then, short stabs and growling once more, his head rocking as he ejaculated inside the girl.

Angel’s sexual fever blazed hot, and she squirmed against Grace, making small noises of need, wanting those sounds to encourage Grace to finish her off, to return her lovely hand between her legs and drive her over the edge like the way she’d seen Diego and the girl do. But Grace resisted, her thumb stroking the thin roll of flesh below Angel’s navel and softly chuckling.

Grace knew what Angel wanted and enjoyed not giving it. There was another lesson here.

Diego withdrew from the girl and steadied himself against the chair. The girl remained in position, panting as though exhausted as a pearl bloomed in her sopping nest of chocolate folds; Diego’s semen.

Angel flexed her thighs as hard as she could, tightening her stomach wall, straining her sphincter and pelvic floor, trying to encourage her own release. It didn’t come. She grunted and surrendered, panting just like the Black girl. Her head swayed to the side, and she regarded her Mistress. “You’re cruel,” she whispered, so light she hoped Grace wouldn’t hear.

“Yes, Angel,” Grace said. “I am often very cruel.”