Angels amidst us (Lucy and Diane)*

Lucy's glimpse of salvation

Lucy trailed behind along the dimly lit corridor, refusing to keep pace… but also never quite letting those swaying pair of hips she followed slip out of view. Those hips entranced her; With their careful, confident sway. Unhurried and unhindered, their owner bore no clothing. Just a single simple cross hung from a leather choker, tucked between those oh-so-impressive breasts she knew were bouncing beyond her sight. Yet the woman walked as if she was draped in the finest silk gowns ever made, weaving between guests at some fantastic orgy atop the most glittering of towers. Lucy wanted nothing more than to know how to walk like that. How to have such unshakeable confidence in your own skin. How to be so completely accepting of your own unfiltered allure. The grubby little street-rat hated herself for wanting such… but she couldn’t deny that she did.

As they passed another flickering light in their near-medieval surrounds an image flashed up in Lucy’s mind: Of the first moment she’d laid eyes upon ‘Sister Diane’. The bronze-haired bombshell had been on her knees in an alleyway. Haloed by a streetlamp but besieged by dark shadows. The rain had poured down on all of those scrabbling through that early-fall evening of their city home. Lucy had been cold and hungry, trying desperately to win herself a bed for the night with a flash of breast or pussy. None had taken her up. Why would they? She was dirty, small and glaring. Just another runaway who’d most likely have robbed you blind come morning. They weren’t wrong. She didn’t begrudge them that conclusion. Not when angels roamed the same streets.

The girl had huddled in the relatively dry of a bus shelter, watching shadows dance across the street. Silhouette figures weaving themselves around each other while bathed in the pink light of just another huge neon billboard. That pink hue emanated from a lurid view up into the splayed pussy of one celebrity or another. Just another daughter of instagram selling sex products by the truckload via shoving her intimates in the face of every small soul who walked past. Every lonely, scrabbling innocent who hoped that by buying into just one more such fallacy that they might find their own path up into such giant glowing brilliance. They could lure that hidden man or woman who might unlock all their secret potential. Grant them that unimaginable gift: a child… and thus elevate them from these spat-upon streets. Lucy slumped in her plastic shelter and hated the fact that she too, held just as feeble hopes. She tried her hardest to squint past those enormous illuminated folds, into the street alley theatres around and below.

That was when she first spied her angel performing. First heard the woman sing out in unabashed devotion. She didn’t seem to notice the giantess behind her. Or even the ever-sluicing downpour from above. Soaking through her hair and rivuletting between her tits. The crowd of rogues, tramps and scumbags who surrounded her was thinning out… as they finally got their turn, or grew sick of getting damp waiting. Their crucifix-adorned target simply moved serenely from one to the next. Letting each haggard creature expulge himself in whichever hole of her he wished. She thanked each one. Calmly. Politely. As they huffed and puffed the last of their floundering exertions between her thighs or into her face. Yet, she never seemed out of breath. Never seemed overcome by her own pleasures. She sighed and moaned her song of pleasures, of course, but Lucy got the distinct impression that those noises were more for her assailants’ benefit. More for the world’s benefit. More for this mangy urchin's benefit, and any one else who was peeping out at this majestic tapestry of erotic artistry. Lucy had caught her own hand creeping down to that slot between her legs. Purely from admiration of this woman who seemed so ridiculously out of place amongst the grime of her city. She had never been drawn to do so in public before. Never felt so overcome by her own genuine sense of desire and sexual hunger. She had lain out across the badly-covered bench of her bus-stop sanctuary and simply rubbed herself raw while the occasional leaking rain-drop landed upon her thighs. When her orgasm had finally hit she turned back to find the angel had gone. Her alleyway now empty. The crowd of degenerates dispersed.