The Angel

When Suzie asked what kind of girl you wanted to be, something happened inside you. The memory of feeling helpless in Bear's arms as he dominated your willing mouth and toyed with your needy pussy was all you could think about. No one had ever made you feel that way before, and you wanted, you needed, you craved more of that feeling. Your head spun as the heat inside throbbed, and you asked Suzie to give you the outfit for the little angel. If that's the kind of girl Bear wants, that's the kind of girl I'll be.

But... is that really me?

Standing on stage for the second time, your doubts are even more powerful than before. This time, they're not telling you to run away. You want to be up here, to show off for these men, to prove yourself to Bear so he'll take you again, take you further. No, this time, your doubts are asking a simple question: what the fuck are you wearing, RC?

The outfit Suzie gave you is utterly ridiculous. Your long legs are covered in sheer white stockings to the tops of your thighs. A tiny white thong, so small in the front that your bush peeks out of either side, is covered by a frilly white miniskirt. Your breasts are held inside a tight white bra that squeezes them together uncomfortably, and has a long white fringe along the bottom that reaches down to your navel. Seriously, I thought fringe went out of style in the fucking 80s.

Altogether, the outfit has you feeling woefully out of place. Even though you feel almost silly wearing all this, there's also another feeling growing inside. Something completely unfamiliar, but strangely comfortable. You never in your life would have picked an outfit like this on your own, but you chose it anyway. You chose to be soft and feminine and inviting so that the powerful man who's already taken you so far would take you even further. Take even more of you. It's like the clothes, and your choice to wear them, are making you feel... submissive.

That word, that thought, that idea of yourself sparks a wave of frightened excitement in you as the music starts. You'd been in no condition to pick your own song, so Suzie had chosen some schmaltzy 80s power ballad. As the dramatic guitar and moody synths fill the air, you try to focus on what you're here to do. You're here to win that prize, to make Bear happy. You're going to win that prize by acting like a sweet, submissive little angel. The only problem is, you have no idea how to do that.

You start off with what you remember working from last time. Swaying your hips a little, the fringe drags across the bare skin of your torso, and the tiny skirt moves more than you expected. Your audience is even more rowdy than last time. They're hungry to see more of the fresh purple-haired teenager, and you can tell they're happy with your choice of outfit. They crowd the stage, their eyes hungry and their words urging you to give them even more. That hunger pulls at that new feeling inside. You know what these men want.

And you want to give it to them.

I can be your sweet little angel, guys. The newness, the strangeness, of that thought just makes it even more exciting. Forgetting your fear, your hesitation, you allow the new feeling to guide you. Reaching up with one hand as you sway on stage, you suck on your pointer finger, and then trace it down the front of your body. Over the exaggerated curve of your breasts, along your fringe-covered torso, down to the hem of the frilly little skirt. You grasp the hem, and with your other hand you cover your open mouth, giving your audience a look you hope is demure, inviting, teasing.

They cheer for you, and the cheers get louder the higher you lift your skirt. You show them the front of your tiny thong, knowing your bush is visible, and you briefly wonder if these men would prefer you shaved. When the fuck have I ever cared what a guy thought about my bush? Those doubts are swept away by the surge of cheers and wolf whistles. You can feel your pussy get wetter, hotter, hungrier with their attention. Following where the new feeling leads, you turn and bend over a little, being careful not to lose your balance this time. You reach back and pull the skirt up a bit, allowing the men to see your thong-clad ass. You like that, guys?

You can tell they do, and you sink further and further into that strange new feeling. Getting down on your knees and bending over more, presenting your ass to them, just feels so natural. They've already seen your pussy tonight, right? So why not show them again? The roar of the crowd as you reach back and pull your panties to the side is intoxicating. This feels so good, why not give them more? You reach back with your other hand and start to slowly peel the thong down. As it reaches your knees, you flip over and face your audience so you can finish pulling the panties down your long stocking-covered legs, and you're greeted by a sight that floods your pussy.

A sea of leering male faces are crowded against the edge of the stage, their eyes all focused on your exposed wetness. You smile for them, and spread your legs, and reach a hand down to start playing with yourself. This is what you want, right guys? You want this tight little teenage pussy? Well you can have it. I'm all yours. Taking your hand from your pussy, you suck on your wet fingers as you get up on your knees, your eyes pleading with the men to take you, to give you more than just your fingers. Reaching back behind you and undoing the bra clasp, you feel a little flutter of fear. The more you give these men, you more you act like that sweet little angel, the more you feel yourself changing. It's feeling less and less like you're pretending, and more and more like you're discovering who you really are.

But... that's not me. That can't be me. Right?

As you slip the unclasped bra forward off your shoulders, holding it in place to keep your young breasts covered, that flutter of fear dies out. Some of the men are reaching up onto the stage now, and you imagine just letting them take you. Surrendering to their hunger, giving in to that new feeling, that new idea of yourself. You let the bra fall, exposing your painfully stiff nipples to your audience, and their roar of approval makes you shudder with need. It doesn't feel like you have a choice anymore. You're already theirs.

Leaning forward onto your hands and knees, you crawl to the edge of the stage, your breasts swaying beneath you and a pleading look on your face. When you reach the edge, close enough to the men to feel their hot breath on your skin, you lean back on your heels and cup your breasts. Presenting them to your audience, squeezing and pinching at your nipples, your face twisting in agonized delight. Please take me, I'm all yours. You sit back and spread your legs again, running your hands along your body, spreading your shining lips for them, eyes begging for them to give you what you need. I can't take it, I need more, I need to be taken.

It's like your audience can read your mind. The men closest to you reach out and grab at your ankles. You gasp at the contact, and then moan in fear and desire as they drag you until you're sitting on the edge of the stage. Their hands are all over you, up and down your long legs, squeezing your breasts, pressing against your wet pussy, one even giving you his dirty fingers to suck on. It's more than you can handle. Bear had worked you up so much, and now the feeling of being taken by all these strange men, wearing nothing but a frilly miniskirt and a pair of stockings, is pushing you over the edge.

Before you can climax, you notice Bear approaching you, and you shudder with desire. Do you see, Bear? I can be a good little girl. I'm doing it for you, Bear. You notice the song had ended, and when you see the look on Bear's face, something freezes inside you. He looks... disappointed.

"You know touching the crowd is disqualifying, sweetheart." He shakes his head. "Shame, too. It looked like you were well on your way to winning me that prize money. Just as well, I suppose. I like my girls with a little more fire to 'em. I'm sure you'll have a good time with these fellas, though. So long, sweetheart. It was fun while it lasted."

He turns to leave, and a feeling of desperation fills you. Pulling your head away from the stranger's fingers, you cry out. "Bear! Wai—mmph!" One of the other men jerks your face towards his and covers your mouth with a rough kiss. You struggle to get free, to chase after Bear, to apologize for letting him down and beg him to take you back, but you can't get out of the grip of these men you gave yourself to. As the kiss deepens, and more hands grab and pull at your body, you feel that desperation give way to that new feeling. The feeling of surrender. The feeling of being submissive. You don't get to decide what you do, not anymore. You already gave yourself to these men. You're theirs, now.

That thought enters your mind right as rough fingers push into your throbbing pussy, and you feel your body relax. A deep, pleading moan is swallowed up by the man still forcing his mouth over yours, and a slow, powerful orgasm shudders through your body. The men laugh and cheer as your juices splatter on the dirty floor. As they pull you off the stage and into the crowd of male bodies, a feeling of resignation fills you. I wanted to be the sweet little angel, and now that's what I am.

Why does it feel so right?