Voices are calling

Lucy heard the voices long before her mind worked out what they were. The strange, lilting choir of sounds so humanly harmonious that they slipped into her ears without disturbing the daydreams. She was chasing an angel after all… Why shouldn't she hear seraphim? It was only as she got closer that the girl realised where the song was coming from. She turned the corner to find not one naked miracle, but a whole barrel full.

They were crowded along the sidewalk, just next to the entrance to her fateful alley. Aligned in two rows, each of about 10 naked bodies, some male, some female. Of every possible creed and complexion. Each wearing nothing but that simple wooden cross about their necks. The back row was stood tall and proud, singing their hearts out while supporting the heads or gently holding back the hair of those in front. This further line were all kneeling. Wide wooden dishes were arranged on the paving in front of them. They were trying to sing too, when the opportunity arose… But were mostly otherwise occupied.

This street was a lot more populous in the daylight, Lucy noted. A main thoroughfare for the tired commuters trying to find home via bus or train or cab. The angels in plural seemed to be trying to lure in these weary travellers. Those upon their knees would sing up at the passing hordes, graciously smiling when one elected to pause upon their journey. If it was a man he would quickly find his fly undone and the meat of him gulped down between soft lips. The working angel, male or female, would keep their hands clasped behind their back, using only the skill of their mouths to impress upon this visitor. Yet always their reward was won, however long it took.

This slimy payment was then savoured, held in closed jaws like a sacred jewel. Or, if necessary due to a new waiting donator, spat politely into that shallow dish waiting below. For, if it was a woman who happened to stop at this curious exchange: she would be immediately greeted by a gift of this goop, pushed carefully up betwixt her thighs by a talented tongue. She was then granted a dedicated exploration of her own pleasures, of course. But the kneeling testaments to human perfection clearly took painstaking care not to let a single drop of sperm miss out on being pushed up inside its new recipient. If needed those wooden dishes were even passed up and down the line, so that female-favoured workers always had a gift to give.

Lucy had stood staring at this clockwork marvel of sordid efficiency for what seemed like an age, before she realised the target she sought was right there among them. She had just about figured out the intricacies of all these moving parts, when a blushing female college student moved away to reveal a familiar face. The angel of the night-before looked just as serene now, with a dribble of her previous customer's juices glistening on her chin. Behind her a muscled adonis sang with a surprisingly high anchor of pitch, his deflated cock resting casually upon her collar bone. The kneeling woman wound her voice back up to join him, her gaze spreading out once more to find who next might ask for her succor. Those eyes met Lucy’s and shone with instant recognition, stunning the young girl like a hammer blow. She hadn’t even realised her own body had been creeping closer as she watched this scene. Pushing through the equally appreciative throng gathering to admire or take part. The self-confessed urchin felt her heart leap for panicked escape once more… but there was nowhere to go. She was penned in by the crowd; and her traitorous legs had already brought her so close. She was drawn in by the angel’s welcoming smile. By the flow of the sidewalk. By the alignment of stars.

Suddenly those eyes were gazing up at her… though not from very far. The woman was so much taller than her, though presumably not too much older. Mid-twenties, perhaps, to Lucy’s nineteen sufferings. The angel grinned yet wider. No hint of rejection or condescension held within. A brimming dish was passed to her, its mixed and milky contents swilling. She dipped a bright pink tongue into it unflinching. Never unfixing Lucy from her attention. Then drew in a long and brimming mouthful.