Amalia's Cat says: Part 2 of Fanguella

Just to let you all know, that most of these parts have not been edited or polished. There may be inconsistencies that if you find, feel free to point them out. Any comments are welcome.

Silky kimono dressing gown, no pajamas. Fanguella loved the feel of silk. Glass of red wine in hand, Masi Amaroni. Not as good as she remembered, but decent, she thought, sipping it where she sat with her feet tucked under her on the carpeted floor in front of the couch. Ten o'clock and she was exhausted. Alone in the quiet of home, the white noise of work, and rushing, and other people's world's crashing into her own, and yet she feared these alone times most of all. They felt heavy, sucking at her, loud. Only this was her own noise, refusing to be ignored, refusing to be blocked out by sleep however much she needed it.
Fanguella could not handle the concept of time. The way it flowed, how sometimes it felt as though it stopped, or that she could step outside of it, but never for long. It was a most faithful follower in life. She feared she would turn around and suddenly it would be gone. The same way her mother used to call with a faithful dogged regularity to insult her and criticize her, before going on to discuss other things on a pleasant tone as though she had not just hinted at the fact that there must be something wrong with a woman who at her age still wasn't married. At her age hadn't had a steady boyfriend in years. Not to mention made her money weaseling money out of poor desperate people who come to her in search of hope, and for whom she makes up futures with the use of phony cards, and a kindly look. And if those cards really were telling her anything then it was surely from the devil, so she lost either way.
Not that Fanguella didn't worry about the devil, she did. She feared he could shapeshift into any creature he wanted, to watch over people, to listen to their thoughts and make their fears reality. It was a deeper part of Fanguella that thought that way, that feared. Mostly Fanguella would sip her wine with cool indifference and mock herself, laugh at her own fears, her own imagined inadequacies that this deeper voice inside her would hint at. She would pretend to agree, look herself in the mirror and mouth the words to herself. Fanguella you're a phony. If you are touched with any powers it is the art of shuffling cards, of faking sincerity to others, and then faking indifference to yourself. Of course, she would tell herself, you only do it because it is the only thing you can do. She did not agree. Yet when she said the words, when she tried to laugh, she found only tears. And a set of eyes that were her own yet would dart around as if with a mind of their own searching searching for the devil hiding in some corner, shapeshifting into a moth on the wall, the yowling cat in her yard. Wiping at her face with a tissue from the box on the side table, Fanguella sniffed, mopped at her nose, pushed her hair back. Now. She needed to listen to that message Now. She dialed the number to her answering machine, pressed in her code and listened. A mans voice. "Hi. I got your message. I'm so glad you left a number so that I could return your call. Because I've been wanting to tell you how badly I want you to suck me every minute of every day, as you so generously suggested. I like your voice. It’s high and girly yet husky and hot. I want to hear it screaming as you cum with my large cock inside of you. I want you to call my name. I know that the name you will call me will either be Oh God or Satan have mercy. I want you badly. I know I can make you scream. You won't believe I'm real. But I am. Call me. 416 698 0201." Click. No more new messages. The phone nearly broke from the force with which she had hung it up. That was NOT the message she had left herself. How? If that bloody ass from the restaurant hadn't distracted her she would have realized that she had in fact misdialled. And left a total stranger a hot message with a return phone number. Oh God. Or Satan? She began to laugh. For what it was worth, that was one hell of a sexy message he had left her. And a rich deep voice that did not sound older then creation as he had claimed he might be. Quickly she redialed her own number and left herself a message. "You've been found out my deary. Caught in your own game. We’ve practiced leaving these messages for some other purpose after all. The supernatural phone sex master has returned your call. Role the dice sweetie. Our turn is up. Do we return the call?"