Chapter 6

Holly Barnes liked to hip-flip when she walked in private or with a very good friend when no one else could see her. It was an exaggeration, a caricature of a prostitute's walk. Holly thunked shut the door of her green Vega and, swinging her red purse in circles, hip-flipped shamelessly as she went up the dark, curving walk to Frank's house. She didn't notice that his Mercedes was gone.

She wore an expensive pair of tapestry hip-huggers over her bony pelvis and long, lean thighs. Her blouse was flaming red silk. She never wore a bra. Her small "fried egg" breasts jiggled as she walked. Holly had naturally carrot-red hair, but she kept it cut short and wore one of a dozen wigs, as the mood, occasion or her outfit demanded. This night she wore a dark red African natural because she felt freaky, and because she would be alone with Frank.

She walked up to the big lime oak door. It was unlocked and the metal lantern porch light was on as she had expected it to be for her, and she entered. Holly traipsed toward the kitchen. "Hey, pooky, your red-haired African girl is heah." She pushed open the swinging kitchen door to semi-darkness. The kitchen was empty.

One of the stove's oven lights was on. She raised her voice. "Hi, lover, where's my food?"

She heard a soft, muffled, piteous mew. She switched on the overhead sink lights. "Tribble?" She opened a cupboard door under the left drain board and the little kitten emerged from between large salad bowls. Holly picked him up. "Ohhh, hey, how'd you get locked in there, hmmm? Get curious and somebody didn't see you go exploring?" She petted him and nuzzled him. He began to purr and lick her cheek. Holly walked toward the refrigerator. "Want some milk?" She looked at the small milk and food dishes beside the stove. The dishes were empty. "We'd better feed you, baby." She found a covered can of cat food and milk in the refrigerator. She fed him. The kitten ate ravenously.

Holly crossed to the stove and pulled open the upper oven. Frozen something was heating in its aluminum tray and cover. She shut the oven. Turned toward the hall door—She jerked and gasped when she saw Donna standing in the doorway, naked, holding the door open. Light from the hallway silhouetted the girl's slim yet opulent body and created a soft halo effect in her blonde hair. Holly clapped her hand to her chest. "Jesus, you scared me, Donna."

"I've been waiting for you."

"Oh? Where's Frank?"

"He's still out shopping."

"That bastard! I'm hungry as hell." Holly felt oddly ill at ease in the situation. Why was Donna naked? Why did the girl stare so? Holly shivered. She didn't know what to do or say.

Donna stepped slightly to one side, allowing an exit through the door. "Let's talk in my room." It was more than a suggestion.

Holly frowned briefly, then yielded. She too often yielded to people. She had that tendency and she knew it. She tried to resist, to assert herself as much as possible, but ... it just seemed that in the crunch she gave in and let others tell her what to do. And what was worse, a little flame of happiness burned in her when she met a strong person who was willing to take her and make her do things. Now a tremor of joy shivered through her as she recognized in Donna a new power of mind. Holly knew; her body/mind recognized a master in an instant —a host of tiny, subtle signals passed between them, and she had a dreadful feeling of happiness. Holly murmured, "All right. I guess there's nothing else to do."

She passed Donna and was envious of the young girl's fully developed body. It was all genes and good nutrition, she knew, but that didn't help her own flatties. Still, the men she had been intimate with praised her for her large nipples and capacity between the legs. She was built big inside. That was partly why Frank liked her so much, she knew. Frank was a strong-willed man, too, but gentle and fair.

Holly felt self-conscious as she walked down the hall and into Donna's room, with Donna following her. Donna's room was dark, and Holly went forward cautiously. She sat on a slipper chair by the bed and watched the strange girl switch on a small bedside lamp. Holly smiled mechanically. "How long has he been gone?"

Donna came around the bed and stood before Holly, legs boldly apart, hands on hips. She stared down at the almost gaunt older girl. She grinned. "I got a flash of you last night. Just a hint of your lack of character. You're a vacuum hungry to be filled. A slave waiting for the right master."

Holly experienced a flutter of fear. "What?" She couldn't bear to meet Donna's intense blue gaze. And the girl's lush nakedness, so near, was an aggression. Holly clasped her hands tightly together, and kept her elbows tight against her waist. She unconsciously huddled in the small chair.

"I am your master now! You will obey me in all things. You will serve me without question. Yes, you will. And you'll love it." Donna reached out and lifted Holly's chin. She captured Holly's wide green eyes.

Holly's eyes dilated. She didn't understand what was happening. Donna had been an ordinary, neurotic, moody, withdrawn teen-ager before last night—before that awful, ugly occult ritual or whatever it had been—and now the girl was CHANGED! DIFFERENT! TERRIFICALLY STRONG! Holly couldn't break the hold of Donna's eyes.

"I am a demon, Holly. Frank is helping me start a coven. You will be a member of the coven. When he returns we will eat and then we will initiate you. All your weak inhibitions and moral restraints will be melted from your mind. You will end as Lucifer's loyal slave, eager to do our bidding."

Holly was breathing raggedly. Her mind reeled. Demon? Her mind skittered. Demon? Joke? No. The force that held her, the power within this girl was appalling. There was an aura that blazed from Donna. Frank, too? Was Frank captured by this utterly transformed child? This ... monster?

Donna's eyes ... dancing far back in those hellish, overpowering blue eyes was a capering essence of pure evil, sickeningly malevolent. Holly shuddered involuntarily. She was suddenly cold. But she was attracted. She felt a growing desire to give herself up entirely. She whispered, "Is Frank your slave, too?"

"Yes! He is my right hand, my acolyte. You will obey him as you obey me. But you will obey ME above all."

Holly couldn't resist. Donna and Frank were her masters. They could do anything with her they wished. And they would take care of her. They would let her stay in this house and let her clean and serve. She was so tired of being out on her own, alone so much. She wanted to be kept ... to be a child without responsibilities, even responsibilities for herself, to trade obedience and service for total freedom from freedom.

Donna ordered Holly: "STAND up."

Holly groaned with fear and submission. She got to her feet. She swayed. She was only inches from Donna's aggressive pink and white and tan nakedness. Holly was physically three inches taller than Donna, but skinny in comparison. She was permitted to drop her eyes. She stared down at the full, pointed perfection of Donna's breasts and saw that the pink, button nipples touched the red silk of her blouse with each quick surge of breath.

Donna said, "I'll amuse myself for a moment. I'm curious." She reached up and put a hand behind Holly's long, slender neck. Holly trembled. She felt the hand pulling her closer, drawing her head down ... to meet Donna's lifted, parted, glistening lips. Donna kissed Holly. Holly began to shake. She felt confused and aroused. Donna kissed like a man, somehow? Yet sensually, erotically, as no man could kiss. Donna's other arm went around Holly's waist and drew her tight. Holly moaned in the kiss and yielded; her mouth softened and opened. Her troubled green eyes closed. A strange heat blossomed in her belly. Her nipples surged to fingerlets of aching, itching need. Donna's serpent-like tongue entered Holly's mouth. Holly squirmed in Donna's embrace. Her nostrils flared and her knees went weak. Donna broke the passionate kiss abruptly and moved back half a step. "Yes, you are mine. I knew it would be easy."

Holly stood, panting lightly, waiting, head down, submissive, wanting more. She felt cut loose from her past. She was dazed by her behavior, by her reactions. Donna reached up and casually began unbuttoning Holly's red silk blouse. Holly could not stop trembling. Her body seemed apart from her. Her eyes watched Donna's fingers undo button after button. Now the front of her blouse was open to her waist. Now Donna's curious hands—soft, yet boldly masculine in seeking—invaded the blouse and found her shallow, big-nippled breasts.

Donna grinned. "Oh, I like this type. Good. I want to see." She pulled the blouse wide open to expose Holly's chest.

Holly watched Donna's fingers pinch and tweak her purplish, thimble-sized nipples. Shivers of sensation—pain and pleasure—filled her small breasts.

Donna asked, "You like this, don't you?"

"Yes," Holly answered faintly.

Donna's hands dropped away. She commanded, "Strip."

Holly fumbled at the snap and zipper at the side of her toreadors. She stepped out of them, and out of her red silk panties, shrugged off her blouse, and stood, naked, as Donna inspected her.

"You need twenty pounds with exercise. I don't like that gap between your skinny thighs. Tonight when you go home after I'm through with you, shave this red bush off and keep it shaved off. I want you smooth as a baby there all the time. Now, let's see what kind of clitoris you've got. Sit on the bed. Open up—use your fingers!"

Donna's peremptory commands were hammer blows to Holly. She obeyed. She sat on the bed, opened her legs wide and drew up her knees. She pulled apart the lips of her vulva. Donna knelt and looked closely at the gaping, glistening pink slit. Holly's clitoris was even larger than her nipples—it projected from the upper, inner folds of her labia, a tiny penis nearly an inch long.

"You love to have that sucked, don't, you Holly? DON'T YOU?"

"Yes." She whispered breathlessly.

"Does Frank suck it?"

"Yes."

"He's good at it, isn't he?"

"Yes." Holly quivered as Donna touched the small, supersensitive organ. Holly needed time to adjust to her new role, to absorb what she had been told, to come to terms with her new position and her powerful young mistress. But she wasn't given time. Donna played with her. A finger flipped her flaming clitoris until the organ was vibrant and stiff, swollen about twenty percent—the limit of its capacity to expand. Each touch was an electric jolt of erotic pleasure. Holly's left cheek twitched. Her eyes fluttered shut. She began to breathe faster.

Donna chuckled lewdly. "You're a slave to pleasure, too. Good. Those who take well usually give well." Donna slid her finger into Holly's wet vaginal tunnel. Deep into the sticky warmth. "Does Frank shove all his prick into you, Holly?"

"Yes." Holly felt two fingers enter her body, then three ... probing, seeking ... it felt good. It was humiliating, demeaning ... and she liked it. A slave can have no pride. Holly sucked air as Donna curled her thumb under her palm and pushed her whole hand into Holly's elastic, deep vagina. Holly felt stretched to her limit, terribly vulnerable, as she experienced the fingers tickling her cervix, the fingers moving in her body so deeply. It was a strange sensation. She lifted her head and looked and saw Donna's hand sliding in and out, going in to the wrist. Holly fell back, chest heaving, nipples sticking out like purple fingers.

Donna withdrew her hand. It was slippery wet. Holly's glands were secreting heavily. "You'll be fun to initiate when Frank gets back. He's buying things for me to use."

Holly lay waiting for orders. She continued to hold open her vulva. Her fingers were slippery and it was difficult. She knew she was turned on and was not ashamed. She had never been ashamed of her body or its processes. She lay amazed at the swiftness of her yielding, yet she was content. She knew Donna was a power, a masterful, supremely dominant personality. Holly was prepared to accept witchcraft, demonology, the occult, the supernatural, worship of the devil ... she was a part of something overpowering. She was being given a direction, a mission, a way of life. She was content.

Donna stood up and, hands on hips again, smiled down on Holly. "Get down on your knees and lick my feet."

Holly was grateful to change positions. She slipped off the bed and knelt and discovered in herself a kind of exaltation as she lowered her head and licked Donna's toes first, then sides of her feet, the arch ... Holly's loins tingled. Her clitoris throbbed. She didn't understand herself, not at all. But she didn't care.

Donna watched, amused. "That's enough." Donna sat on the edge of the bed and opened her thighs. "Eat this cunt until I tell you to stop."

Holly had had lesbian experience. She wasn't shocked. She had spent three months with a dominating bull-dyke who had used her to satisfy another femme, an insatiable, stunningly beautiful platinum-blonde model. Holly had spent literally hours each day licking that ever-hungry vertical mouth. The dyke had spent thousands buying the model gifts, paying for a luxurious apartment. In the end the model had walked out to go with an important director on an assignment in Spain, The dyke had whipped Holly and abandoned her, blaming her for the model's leaving. A few months later, out of a job, Holly had met Frank and been taken over by him. She had been an ever more frequent visitor to the house. Frank had bought her the Vega.

Now Holly willingly crept between Donna's slim, yet rounded thighs. She butterfly-kissed the fringe of blonde down, the creases where thigh met crotch, the waiting, musky mouth. Holly was an artist. Gentle strokings of tongue. She was rewarded a few moments later as Donna's body slowly tightened and then released in a series of gasping spasms. Holly didn't stop. She wanted to prove how well she could satisfy this way. She wanted to please her new mistress.

They heard the characteristic motor sound of Frank's diesel Mercedes as he drove up to the garage. Donna did not give the word to stop. Holly continued to lick sensuously, artistically, into the honeyed slit. She felt a growing orgasmic tension in Donna's body. Donna began to moan and whisper, "Lick! Oh, yes, lick, you sweet-tongue cunt-eater."

Holly knew what was going to happen. She shivered as she knelt in worship of Donna's flushed center. She heard the solid thunk of the Mercedes' door, heard Frank's off-gaited steps on the cement walk to the front door, heard him enter and call, "Holly? Donna?" He knew she was here—he had seen her car.

Holly knew he would find them. Donna wanted that. Holly moaned into the warm wetness and fluttered her tongue even more adroitly. She heard his limping steps in the hallway. The bedroom door was wide open. The light was on. Holly shivered and groveled and tightened her embrace of Donna's satiny thighs. She heard Frank stop. Then his despairing, "Oh, God—" And Donna's full-throated laughter shook her body and the bed. Holly's back was to Frank. She felt more naked and more abject than ever before. She wanted to suck his big penis, take him deep into her belly, feel his crushing weight on her.

Donna's voice was strong, triumphant: "Your woman is mine now! She's my slave. See how she obeys?" And then Donna panted into a wracking climax, laughing and moaning, thrashing, clutching Holly's head—pulling off Holly's red afro wig—gasping and choking with glee and lust, throwing the wig at Frank. When the powerful sensations had passed, Donna said huskily, "Stop!"

Holly settled back on her heels. She was afraid to look around at Frank. She wiped her face with an edge of the bedspread. She watched Donna raise up on elbows and ask, "Did you get everything?"

Frank answered, "Yes."

"Put the implements and things for the ritual down in the coven room and then get dinner ready. This body is hungry. It'll need energy."

Donna kicked Holly in the shoulder. "Help him!"

Holly got to her feet and reluctantly faced Frank. She whispered, "I couldn't help myself ... "

He grimaced. "I know." He put his arm around her narrow waist. "Come on."