Refuse him and escape from his office

Zinyael's wide, innocent eyes stare in confusion at Randy Vincent's swollen cock. It looks monstrous compared to Clark's much smaller penis. And not half as monstrous as the look burning in Randy's eyes.

"Come on, sweetie," he says, stroking his hard cock. "Get those pretty lips around him. Give him a kiss hello."

"I... I... this is..." She backs towards the doorway to his office, unable to think of a reasonable thing to say. A part of her wants to yield to her desires to touch and explore Randy's purple cock bulging from his lap, but the rest of her is terrified. She fumbles with the latch for the door. She wants to scream.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Randy demands, rising from his desk. "I don't think Mr. Modeus is going to be too happy to hear about one of his girls refusing service. That was the deal. I give him what he wanted and he gives me what I want. Now you get--"

She finally manages to work out how the lock works and throws the door open. She hears the sounds of cooking from downstairs. Too far!

"Get back here, slut!" Randy snarls behind her, his fingers grazing her shoulder as she runs out into the hall. She bolts to the only place that seems close enough for her escape: Abby's bedroom. She dashes across the hallway, her soft breasts bouncing and her bare bottom jiggling as she practically sprints through the open door, collides with Abby's bed, and falls face-first onto the soft cushions. The teenager cries out in alarm, yanking out her earbuds as the naked fallen angel rolls over. Zinyael is wide-eyed and gasping with fear.

"What the heck are you doing in here?!" Abby cries, quickly standing up. Her gaze seems to linger on Zinyael's naked body before she forces herself to look away.

"I-I'm sorry," gasps Zinyael. "There was a misunderstanding with, ah, with your father. I took of my clothing and, oh, dear, I have forgotten my clothing in his office."

Randy Vincent appears at the door to Abby's bedroom, glowering. Zinyael is relieved to see his pants are back on, but the bulge of his hardness if obvious to her eyes. She can still see the demonic crimson in his aura. He tosses the wadded up sweatshirt and step pants at Zinyael.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, lady," he says. "But don't go taking your clothes off in my house. In fact, get out of my daughter's bedroom. I think you should stay in my office until I can get the police here or something."

He takes a step towards the bed. Zinyael scrambles behind Abby, clinging to the chubby teenager's shoulders.

"Dad, I think she's afraid of guys or something," says Abby. "It's okay. I'll, uh, get her dressed again and take care of her. I'll help her find that Clark guy."

"Clark Bennett," says Zinyael, cringing behind Abby's back.

"Fine, but make sure she keeps her clothe son," snarls Randy. "The last thing I need is your mother getting the wrong idea."

"Oh, I'm sure she won't get the wrong idea." Abby deadpans. "I think she'll get the exact right idea."

Randy sniffs with irritation. His face and his aura are still red, but he seems unwilling to push his daughter aside and grab Zinyael. For that, the fallen angel is grateful. Randy storms off and slams the door to his office. Abby sighs, closes her door, and sits down on the bed next to Zinyael. She still averts her gaze from the naked angel.

"I don't know what happened to you, but my dad is right; you can't keep walking around naked. That's like three times you've taken your clothes off in front of me. So, like, um... please stop. Ok? You're super hot, but stop. It's confusing."

"Confusing?" Zinyael looks again and the young, beautiful, but painfully awkward teenager. She sees the malaise on the young woman's mind in her aura. She can see it in her chubby body, hiding behind herself.

"Nevermind," says Abby. "Look, the point is, you need to put some clothes on. Get dressed and I will help you find that guy."

"Clark Bennett," says Abby happily. "Thank you. Yes. I will put the tunic and trousers back on."

"Tunic, huh?" Abby shakes her head and gets up from the bed. "Sure, whatever you say. I'll turn around and give you some privacy."

Zinyael pulls the sweatshirt over her head and covers her plump, yet perky breasts. She bends over the bed a bit as she pulls on the sweatpants, covering her round bottom, and she catches Abby peeking at her. Zinyael smiles sweetly and Abby's face goes red. Crimson desire ripples for a moment through Abby's aura. It is a confusion of color that circles Abby's head as the young woman turns quickly away.

"Here, um, we can look up your Clark Bennett," says Abby, gesturing to a small desk beside her bed. She moves her glowing machine onto the desk and sits down in the chair. "Is he from this town?"

"He is from the United States of America," says Zinyael. She leans against Abby's back, crushing her soft breasts against the shoulder of the young woman so that she can see the glowing images on the machine. "Is that the town?"

"Um, no," chuckles Abby, ducking her head and curling a lock of hair nervously behind her ear. "This is the United States of America now. The country. It's divided into states and then counties and cities. You're in Peach Valley, California."

"Cally Fornia?"

"Right," says Abby. "We'll start here. Maybe he lives here."

Abby taps at the machine and types in Clark's name. Zinyael watches as a list of people appear, all named the same thing as Clark Bennett. Some of them have pictures associated, but they do not look like Clark.

"Those are not him," says Zinyael.

"Nothing nearby then," says Abby. "Let's widen the search... and..."

A new list appears, much longer, and Abby begins to scroll through the pictures of the people. Zinyael cries out with happiness when she sees a picture of Clark. He looks a bit younger and his acne is even worse than she remembers, but it is definitely him.

"There, that is him," says Zinyael.

"Really? This guy?" Abby glances at Zinyael, taking in her beautiful face before turning back to the computer. "It says he is in Beach City. That's about two hours from here upstate. Nice place. My family went there once to the big waterpark for vacation. You sure it's him?"

"I know it," says Zinyael, tears welling in her eyes as joy soars in her heart. "I must find him."

"Alright, I get it, you're in love with this guy or something. Everyone has their type, I guess." Abby sighs. "Okay, I could drive you up there if mom will let me borrow the car. It's kind of late though, we should wait until tomorrow."

"Wait?" Zinyael's hopes shrink.

"Yeah, I mean, you could hang out with me or use the computer or whatever," says Abby. "I was going to... would you like me to paint your toenails?"

"A picture of my toenails?" Zinyael looks down at her feet. They seem normal. She cannot imagine why Abby would want to paint a picture of them.

"No, silly. Maybe not though. You could try on some nicer clothes if you want. I mean, I could show you some and leave the room if you wanted to try them on. So you look nice for seeing Clark."

"Nice, yes," says Zinyael, bouncing upright. "Yes, I should look very nice for Clark. Do I not look nice?"

"You, um, look beautiful. I don't get how your hair just does that perfectly like that. Like a shampoo commercial. But, uh, I mean try on clothes. Here, I have a whole bunch and a lot of them don't fit anymore, but you're like a supermodel, so I'm sure it will all fit you."

Zinyael joins Abby at the sliding door of a long closet. She sees numerous garments in a wide variety of designs and colors. Abby takes a dress out that looks as if it might fit Zinyael. Without hesitation, Zinyael shucks the sweatshirt back off over her head.

"Hey!" Abby flinches away. "You're just going to get those out again, huh?"

"I am sorry," says Zinyael softly, covering her breasts with her hands. "I do not mean to confuse you. I can see the desire you feel."

"What? No! No desire. I don't... what are you talking about? How do you 'see' it?"

Zinyael uncovers one of her breasts, the pink nipple standing at attention atop her creamy mound. Abby's brown eyes widen and she looks quickly away. Once more, Zinyael sees the swirling crimson around Abby's head in the young woman's aura. The angel traces the shape with a fingertip, brushing her touch against Abby's cheek and forehead.

"Here, I see it in your aura," says Zinyael. "Sinfulness. Lust. You want to touch me like a lover."

"I... NO! No, I didn't say that! What? Like a lover? Noooo," says Abby, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. Despite her denial, Zinyael can still see the crimson of lust in Abby's aura swirling around her head.