The Angel sang so beautifully. Every night he would sing to her after their lesson, embrace her with his transcendent songs that seemed to promise she would never be alone again; that she would always be loved.

But lately, on nights where he'd been especially pleased with her progress, his songs had begun to change. They were in languages she didn't understand with rich and sensuous tunes that slithered over her skin like unseen fingertips. A heat would form in her stomach and travel lower as his songs progressed; her womanhood blooming at the ample power of his vocals, but leaving her bereft when he reached the end.

It threatened to undo her.

Tonight, he'd given her praise and she knew what kind of song he'd sing. Her body felt charged as she waited in suspense. Still, she was once again completely unprepared for the excruciating brilliance of his deep voice as her Angel sang words she could not understand, yet felt deep in her bones. He'd barely finished the first verse before her knees had weakened with her body's traitorous response and she had to catch herself on her vanity before her legs gave out.

She could not handle it anymore. She cried out loudly, rudely interrupting him, but ending the torment of hearing his pure angelic voice.

Silence followed, but still her cry lingered in her small dressing room. She felt a terrible foreboding; she'd angered her Angel. Then came his thunderous roaring: "You do not wish for my song, child?" She covered her face with her hands, trembling in fear - and to her horror in wanton desire - at his resonating rage.

"Angel, forgive me, my Angel! My body," she cried with a quivering voice as she gestured to the curves of her salacious form, "it reacts with mortal indecency to your glorious voice and the shame is unbearable. Forgive me for my sins!"

Once again, she was surrounded by silence with the exception of her pathetic sobs. If she hadn't felt his presence, she would've expected him to have abandoned her for good. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke. "What do you mean, my c.. Christine?" His anger had dissipated, for which she felt relieved. However, the tone in his voice was so curious - nearly hesitant - and yet gratifying in such a way that the heat in her body began to rise again.

"My body aches..." She explained, looking at her twisting, sweaty hands in shame. "for you, Angel. Something must be wrong with me because I have such immoral feelings whenever you sing for me. My pure love transforms into bodily lust. Your presence affects me and I cannot stop the unvirtuous reactions. Forgive me, Angel, I beg for your forgiveness." Tears tickled down her face in honest remorse.

"I do not believe it is possible for you to think such thoughts of me. Surely, you must be mistaken." The Angel's words spoke of a deep resignation and she felt frustrated by his lack of belief in her words. Did he truly think that she was just a child with silly, unreal notions of desire and love? Did he not understand how mortals could feel?

Desperation to make him comprehend her pain (and perhaps hope that he would see her as a woman, not a child) drove her to unbutton her day dress with rapid fingers. "Oh, Angel, then look upon me and believe me when I tell you how I disgrace you with my sinful love!" She cried as she shed her dress, too lost in her shame to notice how truly outrageous her behavior was. "I do not deserve your glory and kindness." She rid herself of her chemise, leaving one last garment that hid her womanhood from sight. She let the bloomers fall to the floor before following them - lying down on the floor and positioning herself with spread legs, lifting her bottom from the floor - pointing upwards - so her soaking womanhood was clear for the Angel to see in the heavens.

Her Angel had gone quiet and she sobbed in despair. She had failed her Angel! Now that he knew the truth, that she couldn't control her mortal desires, he would abandon her, leaving her alone and without music once more. She'd brought this on her own.

"Christine," the Voice spoke, hoarsely, but clearly, suddenly almost as if he was right beside her. "Darling girl, move to the mirror." She looked to the mirror in confusion, then hurried to oblige instead of questioning her Angel. But he answered her unspoken question with clipped words. "I want you to look at yourself and see what you show me." She knew he was about to reprimand her and though she hated that she had acted like an errant child, she couldn't help but shiver in anticipation of his scolding.

She positioned herself in front of the mirror, putting her feet onto the glass, her legs spread wide and the blonde hair between them reflected before her. Her cheeks blushed profusely as she saw her pink flesh part and glisten with her arousal. Suddenly, it was as if the glass beneath her feet began to warm and she wondered if her Angel was near.

"Oh, Christine!" Her Angel gasped with his magnificent voice, deeper and hoarser than she'd heard it before. It elicited a great shudder from her; more liquid desire flooded her folds and a gasp managed to escape her lips. "Your love for me is truly beautiful. Look at yourself. I do not want you to hide for me, not when your womanhood shines so brightly in my honor." She swallowed and struggled to keep her hands on her thighs. To hear those words from her Angel was torture, exquisite torture.

"Tell me! What am I to do? I ache, Angel! Oh, how I ache for you!" Her right hand stroked lightly over her mound, just for a moment, but it was enough. She moaned. A loud sound, like a pounding, came from the mirror at that moment and her moan turned into a yelp. She quickly removed her feet from the glass and closed her legs as her Angel spoke again, this time in his frightening wrath: "Do not touch yourself! You ache for me, Christine, your Angel! You will only know my touch." She scrambled and reached for her dressing gown.

"Your touch?" She tried to say, confused because her Angel was incorporeal, having said so himself many times, but she was interrupted by his commanding voice. "You will keep yourself bare for me!" He shouted and she let go of the dressing gown, instead wrapping her arms around herself. His voice turned gentle again. "My Christine, I will heal your ache if you wish for it. All I ask is that you wear a blindfold, so you won't be exposed to my appearance."

This made sense, she figured, as angels must be a wondrous sight not meant for mortal eyes. "Please, Angel, I will do anything you ask." She crawled to the vanity and found a scarf fitting to use as a blindfold.

"Make sure the door is locked." He murmured and she did as he asked. "Lie down on your divan. Never lie on the floor again." He commanded and once again she obeyed. She lay down on the divan, then bound her scarf tightly around her head to make sure that she wouldn't catch a glimpse of the Angel's splendor. Her body trembled in trepidation and anticipation. Would she truly feel his holy touch on her skin?

"Are you ready for me?" His voice seemed to be all around her, the sensation enhanced by the loss of her sight, and her breath hitched before she managed to whisper a yes. As soon as the word had been spoken, she saw the light in the room dim through the blindfold, then heard a small sound, almost like a click. A cold breeze seemed to enter the room, making goosebumps rise on every inch of her flesh. She swallowed. Was it him?

Then she heard a breath. A clear, shaking breath. Was it the Angel's first breath in her mortal world? "I am here." His voice was suddenly so close; her womanhood responded instantly to his proximity by clenching. "Do you want my touch, Christine? I will satisfy your desire for me." She felt a presence of something - a hand - move over the side of her body, almost skimming her breast and her hip. He was right by her. She dared not move; it might anger him.

"Touch me, Angel, I beg this of you." She nearly cried. The words had barely left her when a cold hand slid from her foot and up her ankle. She gasped, more in fear than excitement, but forced herself to calm. "Your touch is so cold." She stuttered, fingers gripping into the fabric of the divan beneath her. A harsh breath was drawn and his sharp voice from near her leg frightened her. "You rather have the hot flames of Hell upon you?" He hissed, his words seemingly drawing the life out of her. Tears formed in her eyes. "Please, no, I did not mean that!" Her voice shook.

A cold, but thankfully calming hand ran up her leg. "Hush, sweet girl. Trust me to take care of you." His voice was so tender again and she nodded, quickly feeling the tears evaporate from her eyes. She trusted him. Another hand joined the first on her leg and with gentle coercion he led both her legs over the edge of the divan, so she was sitting with her back against the low backrest. Slowly, he spread her legs.

She felt him kneel on the floor between her legs. She was about to object to an angel kneeling on the floor, but once again he hushed her. "Let me pay reverence to your pure love for me." He asked, his voice wrapping itself around her and making the heat in her belly and below boil. She could not say no. Instead she spread her legs wider, feeling her womanhood's spit drip into the cleft of her derrière.

"Lift your legs and hold onto them. Do not let go." She lifted her legs until they were near the sides of her breasts, wrapping a hand around the back of each knee to keep them in place. She felt exposed and whorish, but she trusted her Angel; he wouldn't let her sin.

His hands briefly grazed hers as he lay them on her inner thighs. Slowly, softly, his chilled fingertips skirted over her sensitive skin, traveling up her thighs towards her center. She breathed unintelligible sounds as his sacred fingers closed in on her most private area where her wanton flesh begged for his touch. She gave no thoughts to his physical form, only the corporeal rough skin of his hands that almost reached her.

"Oh Christine, how you glow and glimmer for me. You are like the brightest star in the night sky." He panted, almost as if he too was aching, but she couldn't think about it because she felt his cool breath on her hot flesh; she mewled and felt her womanhood clench. He hummed and she felt the sound vibrate through her entire being. "I wonder if you will sing again for me this evening." She was about to ask what he wanted her to sing, but then his hands reached their destination.

She screamed; her body quaking as a large palm pressed against her mound. "So wet you are, my Christine. How you burn for me!" His voice was so rough; he sounded almost hungry and eager. Oh, how she wanted him to be hungry for her. "For you, Angel, only for you!" He groaned at her words and grinded his palm harder against her center while his other hand gripped the thin skin on her left thigh. She whimpered.

Without hurry, his palm began to move downwards towards the place where she leaked excessively. His fingertips slid between her inner lips, touching her briefly in the throbbing spot at the top; it made her whine as the stab of pleasure was so intense that it almost hurt and she jerked, enough that she almost fell off the divan. Only his right hand's grip on her thigh kept her steady.

He hummed deeply again, continuing his exploration of her hidden parts. A calloused finger circled her entrance - the place only her future husband should know - and she felt tears spring from her eyes. It was unbearable!

"Please, Angel!" She begged, attempting to lift herself into his touch. It was useless; he held her in place. The finger continued to caress her wet opening in tantalizing circles, almost as if his mind was somewhere else. Her legs ached in the raised position, but it was nothing compared to the torture of his slow movements. Then, finally, the finger stopped its torture. With careful probing, it entered her.

She moaned loudly as the strong finger slid into her, so long and hard inside of her. She heard his gasp as her inner muscles grasped his finger, sucking it further into her until she felt his knuckles against her groin. His other hand that had gripped her thigh left its place, she noticed absentmindedly, but it was forgotten when the finger inside her began to move. The hard flesh slid back and forth inside her in a delicious pace, reaching something inside of her she hadn't dreamt existed.

It was heavenly; she truly felt his blessed touch. Surely, this was a feeling only an angel could create! Her body was reaching for the Heavens and she felt as if she was so close - only a little further.

She thought it couldn't get any more intense, but then another finger - his thumb? - came down upon that pounding place at the top of her inner lips. She cried out from the scalding pleasure as her body seemed to drop into a pulsating light that consumed her entire being. Her womanhood convulsed and spasmed as she screamed for her Angel, his divine hands sharing the holy spirit with her as he grunted her name and shuddered beneath her place on the divan.

When she came back to her senses, she was lying on her divan, still with her blindfold, but now with a blanket covering her naked body. "My Christine," his voice whispered and her heart ached with the way he called her 'his' and the emotions she could hear in his words. She would be no one else's, only his. She felt his presence looming over her, but felt no fear, only love. "I love you." she said, her throat dry, but her words clear.

His breath - because he did breathe - hitched. For a moment she thought she heard a sob and she wondered if she was the first to love him in such a way.

"Taste this and know that your Angel loves you as well." A thumb swept over her bottom lip, leaving something wet and sticky behind. Her tongue darted out to taste it; it was bitter and salty, but it was the Angel's love, baptizing her with his divine essence, and she happily licked her lip clean, savoring the holy love from him.

"I must leave now, Christine. But I will return again for our next lesson." She nodded bravely, fighting to hold back the tears as she tried to remember how he always came back to her. But this time it was different. Oh, if only he was a man! They could be together and share their passion - their music and their love - forever. A cool hand stroked her cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped the blindfold. "Until then, my Christine."

And then he was gone. She removed the blindfold as the lights came back on and if it wasn't the residual tingling in her body, she could have imagined it all to be a dream.

Note: While this is a one shot, I may continue this story as I have plenty of ideas, so stick around.