Chapter Four

“This way, bestie. You’re doing sooo~ well. Not much further now.”

The voice was familiar—light and playful. Tassia’s eyelids fluttered like shutter lenses as she drifted back to reality, finding herself being escorted down a dimly lit corridor.

Well… staggered down the corridor would be more accurate.

Or wobbled, perhaps?

Head drooping, she stared at the carpet. Five-inch heels swam into focus, their ankle-snapping platform soles making her totter like a newborn foal finding its feet for the first time.

Something—someone—was supporting her. An arm wrapped around her waist kept her upright as they made their way toward a large set of double doors beneath a sign reading ‘Main Theater.’

Distant music filtered through the walls. A mesmerizing songstress sang an operatic aria.

The melody soared and dipped, spanning a breathtaking range of emotion—mournful one moment, furious the next. Tears blurred Tassia’s vision at the impassioned recital.

The singer sounded like an angel, wounded and betrayed by someone she loved.

That impression evaporated like water in a skillet when something shiny caught Tassia’s eye.

There were a lot of shiny things in this place–brass light fixtures, steel door handles, gilded picture frames, the silver thread woven into the fancy carpet…

Everything looked brand new. Spotlessly clean.

Which was weird, because Dolly said they were in a hotel, and Tassia hadn’t seen another guest yet.

Where was everyone?

That thought slipped away just as quickly—Tassia’s pinkified mind held onto ideas about as well as a colander held water—as they wobbled past a full-length mirror.

“Whaaa~?”

She gaped. The woman in the looking glass gaped back, looking dumb as two bricks and slutty as hell, her supremely athletic, disastrously top-heavy figure squeezed into daring violet and hunter green lingerie.

The strappy piece provided negligible coverage—and what little there was was sheer lace. Satin bands crisscrossed her body like decorative bindings, while red diamond pasties concealed her nipples and tiny wisps of lace formed a minuscule triangle over her slippery sex. A thin strap wrapped low and snug around her throat like a choker, a silver heart resting at its center. A garter belt and embroidered stockings completed the ensemble.

Her thong was already a soggy mess.

“Oops, no time for touch-ups now, bestie.” Dolly tugged at her arm, her reflection appearing beside Tassia’s. “You’re, like, totes stunning. C’mon, we’re almost there.”

Tassia lingered a moment longer, staring at the face in the mirror.

Dark eyeliner and glittery purple shadow gave those strangely recognizable eyes a smoky, undeniable allure. Rich ruby paint coated her puffy, spit-polished lips, making them look even fuller. Concealer, blush, and rouge had been expertly applied—erasing blemishes while sharpening her high cheekbones to a razor’s edge.

Her brows were meticulously plucked, arching in guileless admiration above a smooth, unlined brow. Deep purple hair had been curled and pinned into an intricate bun.

Something about her hair was troubling. Like, was it meant to be that port-wine color?

Should she bring it up?

“She’s, like, super hawt.” Tassia blurted instead.

She smiled. The girl in the mirror smiled back.

The vapid, toothy grin made her look utterly insipid.

“Yep, totally fuckable,” Dolly agreed, nearly yanking Tassia off her feet. “This way, friendo. Just a few more steps.”

They stumbled together through the double doors.

Inside the main theater, the song from earlier struck Tassia like a physical blow.

It wasn’t that it was loud—not really. No more than any normal concert.

And yet it carried weight. Substance. An intangible force that seemed to press against her, sinking deep into her soul.

Empty seats stretched out in tiered rows, divided by aisles that led toward a brightly illuminated stage, where the singer—that heartbroken angel—poured out her grief and rage beneath the spotlights.

She was downright gorgeous.

A masterpiece of feminine perfection, as though hand-sculpted by the divine—an ideal for mortal women to admire and envy.

Brilliantly blonde, she shimmered under the lights, draped in an asymmetric, strapless royal blue ballgown with a sweetheart neckline and a frilled bodice overflowing with sumptuous cleavage. The skirts cascaded behind her in a train of silken ruffles, cut high at the front to reveal long, shapely legs that would leave even the finest Parisian catwalk models green with envy.

Diamonds sparkled at her swanlike throat—over a hundred carats interspersed with pearls along an intricate platinum chain. More gemstones adorned her elegant wrists and ankles, none more eye-catching than the blue diamond on her ring finger.

Even from a distance, Tassia could tell—it had to be the size of a robin’s egg, faceted in a dazzling princess cut.

Was the angel a princess too? She shone bright enough to be both.

The angelic princess swayed hypnotically as she sang, reaching out as if to grasp an invisible lover. Every movement and gesture was impossibly elegant, her voice rising and swooping in a turmoil of passion.

The words were in Russian, but Tassia didn’t hear them. She didn’t need to–she could feel the emotions behind the lyrics as if they were her own.

Hurt. Treachery. Jealousy.

Someone had stolen something from the singer. Something precious. And she would have revenge.

“Ohhh, we’re just in time for the best part.” Dolly squeaked, pushing Tassia toward the stage. “Master always gets, like, super duper horned up when Mistress performs.”

“That’s nice.” She murmured wistfully, unable to focus on anything but the enthralling vision before them. “Good for him.”

“Good for us. That’s Master tickling the ivory.”

Tassia hadn’t noticed any instruments onstage. How could she when the few remaining brain cells that weren’t stuffed in her airbag tits were obsessing over Princess Angel?

But the sparest of glances perceived a concert piano only a few feet from the bewitching soprano. And seated on the padded bench in a simple, but well-tailored tuxedo was the most striking male specimen she’d ever seen.

Brain glitching, Tassia’s eyes crossed, trying to look in two directions at once—one fixed on the angelic singer, the other dragging toward the man. Pressure spiked her skull, and she would have collapsed if Dolly hadn’t caught her.

“I gotcha, sister,” Dolly said, propping her up. “It totally knocks you sideways when they’re together like this. Like, wowsers—call the fire brigade, right?”

Tassia simply mewled, poleaxed like a starstruck teen as Dolly essentially carried her to the front row. In the end, her gaze settled on the devastatingly handsome pianist—if only by the tiniest margin.

Even seated, she could tell he was tall with an indefatigable presence and incredibly strong, but not brutish, features.

His jawline was a bulwark, dusted in a closely cropped tawny beard. A protuberant brow overhung intense amber eyes, which remained riveted on the glorious songstress bearing her pain. His nose was straight and bold. His lips were slightly sensuous and upturned at the corners like a peerless Casanova whose smile could melt women’s panties from over a mile away.

Long russet hair fell in a dense mane around broad, shelf-like shoulders that could hold up the sky if Atlas ever needed a day off. However, the rest of him wasn’t bulky, but rangy–unlike the steroid-abusing gym junkies Tassia was all too familiar with.

His strength was more subtle. It didn’t loom or shout or strain his coat sleeves. Yet it was still there in the jaw-dropping V of his masculine frame. A wide, muscular chest tapering down to trim hips and… other mouthwatering regions below.

It was the type of strength that snuck up on the ignorant and unwary. Stalking them like a tiger–no, like a lion. The uncontested king of predators.

Tassia whimpered, caught between fear and arousal. The mere sight of him nearly tipped her over the edge, her thong dissolving in the sudden rush of girl nectar.

“Aaaah~!”

“You’re late,” a stern voice cut in. “I’ve been stuck dealing with this douche-canoe while you played dress-up with the sidekick.”

“Am not!” Dolly shot back. “Mistress is still singing, and Master hasn’t even got his dick out yet. Besides, bestie here was, like, a crazy tough nut to crack. Took me ages, but I got the job done. Sorry, not sorry.”

The exchange snapped Tassia back into a spotty approximation of reality.

So far, she’d only had eyes for the two superhuman entities onstage. It came as a mild surprise to notice others seated in the front row—lesser beings, barely worth attention, but present nonetheless.

Dolly was already deep in a spirited argument with a busty Latina maid. Tassia rifled through her limited mental rolodex and found her—Kitten. One of Dolly’s friends.

Tassia adored Dolly, so her friends were A-okay too.

She giggled, and it felt wonderful. Pink lemonade swirled her bimbo brain like a cherry in a carbonated cocktail.

The man seated beside Kitten, however, was harder to place.

Large and bearlike, he stared unblinkingly at the angelic princess in only his underclothes. Craggy features and a bushy mustache tickled Tassia’s memory, but she couldn’t place him.

He sat still as a mannequin, hardly breathing, sporting a prominent bulge in his boxers and a dismayed expression on his frozen face.

Ugh, a filthy maggot lusting after a swan.

Grimacing in disgust, Tassia turned away from the vile degenerate, instantly forgetting him when her gaze fell on the stage again.

The piano crested, the aria reached its zenith, and the breathtaking prima donna drew out the final notes in a voice so pure and true that Tassia felt it resonate in her bones.

Loss. Regret. Anger.

Bitterness soured Tassia’s stomach. She wanted to hunt down whoever had dared wound this heavenly creature and make them suffer for it.

Then, as the last echoes faded, the mega-hunk pianist stood and began clapping.

“Brava! Brava!” He boomed. “Spectacular. You shine brighter than the moon, my love!”

The rest of the audience—all four of them—joined in with cheers and rapturous applause. Even the repulsive brute slapped his heavy mitts together, though he neither spoke nor otherwise reacted, his movements stiff and mechanical.

Princess Angel clasped her cheeks with dainty hands, smiling like a blushing bride as she dipped into a graceful bow.

“Thank you, Darling. That was Lyubasha’s aria from the second act of The Tsar’s Bride by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.” She said, pressing her delicate hands to her bountiful bosom. “Lyubasha sacrificed everything for her husband, only to be betrayed by those she trusted. It felt… appropriate.”

“A fitting tribute indeed, my brave lioness—and beautifully expressed.” The tuxedoed Adonis replied. “Her transgressors will find no bolt-hole in which to hide, no respite from righteous retribution.”

The cloud of dark emotion lifted from Tassia, dissolving on cherry-scented breezes. She let out a celebratory giggle as blissful fuzziness blanketed her thoughts once more.

Everyone was happy. And happiness felt good.

Happiness—and the sight of that leonine-maned super-stud striding across the stage to sweep his ethereal lover into a crushing embrace—turned her insides to wibbly-woobly jelly.

“Yes… Darling, yes!”

Their lips met–hot and ravenous–like a scene from some timeless romance. Tassia’s heart pounded, and her pussy juiced with joy, her arousal spiking at the spectacle. The sexual tension only ratcheted higher when they started tearing at each other’s clothing.

“Awww, yeah. It’s go time,” Dolly panted, appearing at her side. “Brace yourself, friendo. When Master and Mistress get like this, we’re in for a wild ride!”

Master and Mistress?

Tassia’s lust-fogged mind made a valiant attempt to connect the dots.

The mysterious figures, spoken of with reverence, dangled before her like irresistible bait—were these two transcendent beings now gearing up to fuck beneath the spotlights?

Thoughts bubbled and collided, amounting to nothing, so she gave up the futile exercise of deduction, latching onto one simple idea.

Fucking.

God, she wanted to be fucked.

No, want wasn’t an emphatic enough term for the gut-cramping hollowness tormenting Tassia. She yearned... She craved... She needed to be fucked! To be crammed full of a real man’s hard dick.

A real man like Dolly’s Master, who’d ripped open his lover’s bodice to feast upon her big, creamy melons.

“Oh, my lion! Yes! Drink deep, Darling… haaa~!”

And Tassia was here to be fucked, wasn’t she? Her weeping cunt pulsed in agreement. Why else would she be wearing such ridiculously tall heels and scandalous lingerie?

Stripper heels plus slutty lingerie equaled fucking.

Even a dumb-dumb like her could work out that basic math.

Fingers slid across Tassia’s slick snatch, strumming her pink pearl. Lightning seared the sensitive nerve cluster, and she glanced downwards in open-mouthed shock, surprised to find the fingers were her own.

She was on her knees, drooling uncontrollably, thong pushed aside with two digits plumbing her drenched depths. Saliva pooled in the cleft of her expanded cleavage as she desperately chased sinful release.

“Hawt… ommff! So fucking hawt!” Tassia moaned, not caring who witnessed her shameful behavior.

“I know, right?” Dolly gasped, dropping beside her, one hand already slipping beneath her tiny skirt. “They’re totes like this all the time!”

Their eyes met.

For a moment, nothing else existed.

A sudden, overwhelming urge seized Tassia—to kiss her. Dolly was sooo pretty. Her collagen-pumped face pillows were slightly parted, glistening only inches away. Her buxom boobage heaved in sync with Tassia’s, also shiny with spit.

They were, like, almost identical in their wanton desires. Twin sisters from different misters, conjoined by their slavish worship of the perfect man’s masculine supremacy.

Tassia’s world tilted on its axis, and she fell towards Dolly, her fingers thrusting and mouth puckered…

“What are you idiots doing?”

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