2084

2084 (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 11 – Masquerade

Girl is a conundrum's conundrum.

Amanda was sensuously curious. Were they as she had dreamed? Were they really one-inch-long?

Chess was a boring pastime for a girl as intellectually gifted as the astounding Amanda. Worse was that it had taken the novice Serna, three games before she realised why she was leaving herself open to ‘fools mate'.

It was pouring with rain outside. Unreasonable yes. Unseasonable no.

Summer vacation for Serna still meant school uniform today, and the way she had her white knee-socks, not folded over at their tops just below her knees, but pulled over her knees as if they were self-support stockings, which indeed they were, save in pure white elasticised wool rather than transparent nylon or silk, was essentially erotic, if an understatement were to be made about them.

And so too it was true about the bare tanned thigh that showed slim shapely till, as she sat on her chair, the hem of her tight grey miniskirt, with a fascinating surely tickling stray of undone cotton adorning her right thigh's inner curvature by dangling upon her natural smoothness, invited the eyes into the shadowed darkness of the skirt-formed tunnel between her thighs where the gates to heaven were sweetly softly completely firmly closed, under her praetorian pristine white virgin-pussy-purse-pouched cool cotton school-issue knickers.

Lust for the older girl was not lost on Serna. She was only fourteen and not long since fourteen at that. In the reality of later that wet morning as opposed to the wet-dream morning of Amanda's pre-dawn dawning with sticky g-string panties for the laundry, Serna had walked the dogs and been completely stunned by Amanda's loveliness.

Of course it did not help that it had been raining.

Earlier than the chess, they had walked the bitches. Serna had been nearly pulled off her prettily tiptoed dainty feet in defeat, by the strength of the pull Michaela had exerted on her leash. Of course ballet-shoes for girls would always be the fashion now, they showed off the perfection of a girl's legs so erogenously, and aroused such unquenchable passion in consequence. But posing the legs so, posed a problem when a bitch was being walked on her leash, and that bitch was longing for a slit-licking from her fellow bitches.

And then for Serna's young heart, there was the sight of Amanda with Siabon and Zudina on their leashes in front of Amanda: Amanda's rear thus in front of Serna near. How Serna's best friend at school, Romany, and she, Serna, had lusted after this beauty! Okay she was only a maid, but that did not stop her being so bewitchingly sexy. And there she was now, today, and just in front.

Of course it did not help that it had been raining, so that Amanda was in her rainwear.

The A-line yellow PVC raincoat Amanda wore, ran from her choker, to a hemline allowing a peak of her peaks: her cheeky cheeks: her bottom's twin-assuredly-curvedly-curved-bottoms.

That was arousing enough, but more perspicaciously provocative still was the fact the cape-raincoat was translucent, and the glorious brown girl's eight-inch squeezed waspie-wasped waist, was causing her natural girl-gait to sensate the palate with a bum-snake to make an earthquake.

Amanda's bright white waspie also held her magnificent brown mammaries up, and barmaid-buxomly out before. And below the waspie she had on fresh white thong in place of her night-soiled wet-dream soaked g-string ones, seemingly as if forgetting that this left the astounding glory of her bountiful bottom essentially bare, and very visible through her raindrop diamonded cape.

Amanda had wiggled before the impressionable Serna thus, impressing Serna with desire the teenager could only store as frustration of the senses.

The pouring rain had pattered on the primrose pattern on Serna's umbrella, whilst it simply rolled in silken glory off Amanda's saucy sou'wester, down her cape, and onto the supremely smooth complexion of her completely bare negress' brown legs, running slowly, prayerfully, playfully, down their contoured curvature, as if tears of worship of the heavenly wonder of Amanda's lovely lower limbs: lower in location but never in estimation of their contribution to her sensual sensation.

Tiptoed tall and long in balletic booties as Amanda was, the rain had run rivulets of worshipful holy water softness, patterning her legs with transparent droplet pearls and trickles, the eroticism of which Amanda herself seemed oblivious of; but the obvious ogasmality of which was burnishing the desires and fires of the blushing burgeoning Serna, who was, that day, anyway, patching inside her virgin white schoolgirl knickers, with red-hot passion, behind Amanda's badly behaving rattlesnake behind. Astern a stern to stare at and be stirred to emotion's highest of high devotion by.

Amanda's bottom was beauty reared to a new plane save that there were two high planes in fact: rolling smooth muscularly-firm hills, which to call plain would deserve complaint for its non-compliance with the boldly obvious swinging bewitchingly twitching swaying mesmerising tantalising teasing pleasing truths. Amanda had but to turn around to turn another girl on: on further still, that is, of course.

And then Amanda had turned, and oh god those lips that mouth! What sin it was that she was not being kissed there then and forever amen! Every second was a kiss lost and thus tossed away: heaven foregone: unforgivable: unforgiven.

The face showed the pride of Amanda's race. Her brown eyes borrowed no beauty from lesser lights or lesser heights. She was negress and proud, and her pride wholly warranted, for she was the epitome of the negress and the apotheosis of girl: an apotheosis for an apothecary's potion in the every very emotive elegant motion of her grace and calm charm.

Serna's panties were red-hot with fire for the incredible creature of god's creation, her eye's pupils wide, she was wide-eyed with want for the mistresspiece of the negro race with the haughty pride in her perfection, facing momentarily in her direction: Serna's longing being just to be allowed to kiss Amanda's feet, or even the ground her feet made sacred, by tiptoeing touch, in her temptation sensation wiggle-walking appointment-anointment of holy ground wholly around her, everywhere she graced, and thus made heaven on earth of otherwise despised mere place.

Back in the kennels the walk after, chess was a boring pastime for a girl as intellectually gifted as the astounding Amanda. Worse was that it had taken the novice Serna three games before she realised why she was leaving herself open to ‘fools mate'.

It was not that Serna was unintelligent: quite the contrary. She seemed distracted.

Amanda, as the inferior in life, puzzled whether it was the better part of diplomacy for her to let the little schoolgirl win the game. Amanda's wonderful wits were well capable of deliberate error that the younger girl would never realise had been perpetrated to aid her; such was Amanda's intellect and skill, and the schoolgirl's present comparative ignorance of the board-game she was making a bored game.

Amanda would have suggested another pastime, but she was also obsessed with the fourteen-year-old's cleavage, within the white blouse with buttons open to ventilate for the warmth of the summer, and the questions: Were they as she had dreamed? Were they really one-inch-long?

Amanda was behaving purely on a subliminal level. She was after all sublime.

Serna was stunningly gorgeous. Amanda never consciously sought the answer to her question; but she was a sentient sexual being, and her heavenly eyes just sought satisfaction of the question to which her unconscious mind kept wandering wondering and pondering.

Next Serna, bored and petulant yes; but also obviously tense from some other cause, simple swept the pieces off the board.

Amanda, ever and always the fully dutiful maid now, bent straight-leggy-legged over, to rescue the pieces, risking provoking the younger girl as her, Amanda's, micro-miniskirt, showed the bottom-quarters of her round brown half-moons, when she over-bent to pick up the two sets of upset scattered nipple-shaped pawns, the whip-beweaponed-and-ankle-spurred-girl-on-ponygirl ‘knights', the clit-shaped rooks, the leggy abbess ‘bishops', and the two queens – girl and wife – with which chess was now played.

“Please forgive me my lady, but may I make so bold as to ask my lady if she has a worry? Please don't think me rude for my daring to ask you my honoured lady”, Amanda enquired, curtseying extremely prettily to the girl six-years-her-younger, but her social superior.

Serna longed merely to say ‘sex'; but instead her chronic shyness, born of complete ignorance and innocence, made her say something trite despite and instead.

“You are entirely forgiven Amanda. But it is kind of you to ask”.

Amanda's youthful wisdom intelligence and experience told her to wait, and the explanation would be revealed; but she was wrong. At least in the short-term she was wrong.

“Where is my ladyship's lovely friend, Miss Charleston?” Amanda contributed to aid the blushes on the supremely lovely freckle-dappled visage of the angel with the hair that shone jade-black, highlighting the sensational bright-yellow eyes shining catlike: a haunting hunting tigress seemingly peeking from among the jumble of the jungle of Serna's as ever forever unkempt coiffure.

“Oh: Romany is with her mummy this week. Her mummy and her mummy's wife are divorced you see. Romany lives with her mummy's wife when it's term time don't you know, cos it's nearer to St Virgo's for her you see. And St Virgo's is such a good school, or so they say. And so Romany doesn't see her mummy, ‘cept in the hols ………”

“But surely a girl as pretty as your ladyship has other friends…” Amanda began….

It was the right and the wrong thing to have said to the impressionable schoolgirl….

“Am I: am I pretty?! Serna seared with sensational passion, a metaphorical nail having been struck on its head.

“My most humble apology my lady, it is not my place to say. I most sincerely beg your forgiveness my lady”….Amanda began.

Time passed in electrically charged eye-contact-avoiding erotised silence.

“What is it like to be kissed Amanda?” the now sweetly aroused schoolgirl blurted from strawberry-sweet raspberry-pink lasciviously luscious lips, within the rosebuds of her scarlet-hot blushes, and with her siren's saffron eyes downcast within the jumble jungle tangle wrangle of her wildly unkempt unruly scattered hair.

It was both the right and the wrong move that Amanda made next as, touched by the innocent girl, she moved to hold her head in gentle hands and kiss her fevered forehead. But Serna was quicksilver in her golden glory, and planted her never-before-kissed mouth in the path of Amanda's heavenly lips: and it was a kiss; a palpable kiss!

Serna's lack of knowledge of the kiss made it all the more wonderful: all the more beautiful as two girls who should have been welded together forever as they were, made the love they were both made for, with Serna now stood a student with her lips pouring innocent saliva, for she knew not yet that kisses have variety and range, and sought to eat the succulence of Amanda's dream negress' mouth, rather than letting the kiss just happen.

With an extremely pretty hand, Serna lifted and pulled the stray of her wild black hair that had interposed between the mouths of the two angels-on-earth, and told Amanda with her piercing yellow eyes that she wanted more.

Amanda was passion's passion as she kissed the schoolgirl once more, and learned that the girl had learned, and what she could do now already, to answer lips with lips, still a little hesitant and under tutelage, but knowing now of the need to let the mature girl take the lead.

Amanda breathless broke free. She must know! She must know! The buttons of Serna's blouse complained as little as Serna herself, which was not at all, as Amanda undid them all and revealed the breasts and the nipples. And Serna's nipples were more real than the dream!

Serna's nipples, more real than Amanda's wet-dream, stood two-inches long at forty-five-degrees from the vertical, gazing up symbolically thimbolically – a half-inch broad at their base and hardly tapering in the twin incredibly erotically orgasmic lengths, of their two-inches to their tips.

With her saffron-yellow eyes and these incredible nipples, adorning outstandingly outstanding and fully virgin-firm breasts, what god of gods had made this girl? How could god be other than a girl to have made this likeness of her: for such Serna was as much as was Amanda herself.

The third kiss was longer in longing and length and strength, for Serna was new to passion, but now wore it as if fashion, so quickly had she learned to kiss, or rather to be kissed and adored. And how blissfully fully easy it was with Amanda, for Amanda was the kiss: Amanda was the kiss girlsonified.

“I'm safe” Serna passionately whispered, as if she knew of what she spake.

Serna's skirt fell around her tiptoed toes the toes of a rose arisen and aroused, her love espoused, and her body exposed flawless, as her skirt was floored.

“I'm safe” Serna whispered, as if she knew of what she spake.

Her blouse joined her skirt and the full body of the full-bodied schoolgirl, with her nipples assenting candles nodding on her swaying breasts, was led by a sweet white hand in sweeter brown, toward Amanda's bed, to have her passion explored and adored by a girl in need of a girl indeed: the girl of girls, the epitome of the negress: the epitome of girl: Amanda.

Of course Amanda should have known.

She felt the passionate heat of Serna as she held her close, and the erotically arousing press of Serna's breasts with the two-inch-long candle-nipples, of such orgasmic wonder and beauty as to defy gravity and depiction description, beyond imagination being the sensation with which they provoked ardour and amore, as they conducted the music of the spheres from the hemispheres they adorned, waving unwavering upright stiff candelabra, conducting magical mystical music that filled the eyes with tears to see such wonder of wonder's wonder, wandering, as the girl who owned them moved, and moved the heart and the soul by merely being.

Girl is a conundrum's conundrum.

Amanda longed to throat Serna's throbbing points, thrusting with passion no mere penis could replace, for penis has no place in the girl to girl interface, and the love thus longer softer fuller and truer, for girl knows girl like no-one but girl knows girl, and girl knows girl because girl knows herself.

Such love is more natural than nature. God made girl and god made girl. So for girl to love girl must be god's gift: for she could not have made such wonders for any lesser love than girl-girl. Girl with girl is beauty doubled and duty is thus doubly-fulfilled in girl-girl love, which must be god's ultimate plan, with man but a step on the way to the ultimate resolution of evolution: the final solution to evolution being girl: god's perfect perfection in all her manifold manifest complexion of confections.

See girl and you see Her.

Girl is a conundrum's conundrum.

Amanda and Serna furnaced flame.

‘Drip' ‘Drip'

Stirred by passion, Amanda must enter the panties. Her gentle hand rested on Serna's firm hot belly, with fingertips easing up the elastic of the white school-issue knickers of the virgin angel, seeking permission, not refused, to sneak further, and ease Serna forward to search for the source of the certainty that she was indeed undoubtedly girl.

It was soon found in shocking abundance, for Serna was hot, for Serna was red-hot, for Serna was seeping, and her blood-soaked panty-liner felt when found, stunned Amanda; who immediately withdrew.

“Amanda?”

“I'm safe!”

“Teacher at school said ‘only make love when you're safe'. I'm having my monthly naughty, so I'm safe aren't I Amanda?” Serna whispered lisping with sweet soft succulent-lipped passion, with fiery eyes aflame, the tigress wild and wanting the higher fire of desire: the delirious deliciousness of girl with girl to unfurl.

“My lady. Please, please forgive me my lady…..” Amanda pleaded as she parted herself from the glory story leaking her compassionate confirmation, periodically rejoiced, that she was fecund female, foremost of the human race that girl has long since won by a million smiles.

Tears of innocence tumbled down the softly downed cheeks of the jet-haired saffron-eyed angel's angel, who had been so mistaught by a thoughtless miss with an intentional twist to warp the minds of her charges at St Virgo's School for Girls, the better to ensure their chastity by nastily instilling that there was one safe time in the moon cycle to make love with another girl, leaving her victim now distraught. For Amanda meant no hurt but could not feel a reddened slit: her passion being doused by the heat of Serna being on heat, and all the horror of the all-day-long doggy-rape Amanda had endured when, last but twice since, on-heat herself, not so long since.

………………

“Amanda: we need to speak pwease”, Cecile commanded.

“Amanda one is so disappointed in you”, Cecile began, a volcano suppressed.

“You are such a tweasure with the bitches. If it were not for that I'd have you whipped.”

“Thank you for your mercy my lady”, Amanda pleaded with tears starting in her adorable eyes.

“It's not as easy as that Amanda. It's a matter of twust and honour”

“Miss Hayden-Standish, Serna, is the dearest sister of a vewy dear fwend: Vewonica: Mrs Amewia Jenkins-Ward to you of course. Vewonica's husband, Amewia, will have to be told. Amewia will be fuwious with you when she hears. And I've know doubt she will want to whip you herself personally. And who could bwame her?”

Amanda hung her proud head in deep shame mingled with deeper fear.

Do you know Vewonica has wanted you as a pet bitch for Amewia, ever since Vewonica kissed you in the auto that night just before her wedding?” Cecile mused.

“Do you want to spend the west of your days bound up as a bitch rewying on another girl's milk as your only food and dwink?” Cecile asked with cold precision.

“No! No! Please my lady: no!” Amanda pleaded soulfully.

Tears in her eyes, Amanda returned to the kennels trembling with relief that she had not received a more dreadful punishment for kissing Serna than a severe telling-off.

Still quaking, she knelt on the mat to offer her breasts to the bitches, who were soon suckling on their sustenance, their subsistence, Amanda's wonderful warm mothering milk.

Two months later still, and Amanda was on her padded knees with her hands in rubber palm-padded mittens, a spiked collar around her swan-slim neck, crawling on a leash.

Two phone calls had been necessary. Veronica's husband-girl, Amelia, holidaying in Moscow with Veronica, would accept nothing less in the first, and demanded Amanda be delivered up when they got home. The second had hired another wet-girl: a new lactating maid made for the three pet bitches that had been Amanda's heretofore loving and loved charges.

Serna's pretty legs were Amanda's only solace as she was made to crawl past Cecile to begin her new life as a pet bitch.

………………

Amanda crawled newly nude and naked as the day she was born at the dawn of her new life, the glorious brown beauty of her body bound and trussed for the loss of trust in her.

Serna, expelled from school for conduct unbecoming a lady, was gentle, as she led Amanda on the leash. Money would still see Serna alright; just as its absence would continue to see Amanda all wronged.

The glory of Amanda's tremendously powerful legs was made more splendid still by the erotic hugeness given her thighs, by her ankles being bound helpless by straps binding them at her crotch.

Amanda's forty-inch-double-D chest hung swung in significant absence of any insignificance, dangling bountifully fully-full and bulbous, swinging wide side-to-side, and back and forth, as she crawled humiliated, in soft imitation of a call to church by muffled bells: bells where the belle Amanda was concerned, whose total silence as they swung soundlessly boundlessly, was more musical and more of a call to worship by far than any cathedral's clatter and clang.

The huge double-domes of the two hemisphere that topped and bottomed the axle that pierced Amanda's tongue, silenced her loving lovely voice, giving her no choice not to talk, for to speak more than a squeak was now impossible.

Amanda had shed her tears, and now crawled to face her future years.

‘Drip' ‘Drip'

………………

For the foremost Amanda it had been four months now.

A harsh slap on her wonderful left thigh told her to rise. This was how it had been these four months: four months in the space-girl's helmet-mask she now wore.

Her beautiful dark-brown eyes showed her weariness and pain. The eyes, the eyes of the heavenly Amanda, were visible but could not see.

‘Drip' ‘Drip'

She was not blinded, but might as well have been for all she could perceive. The mask, a helmet, hell met, covered her head entirely. As if for a motorcycle, but lighter and darker outside and in, of plastic transparent apparently but not truly, it contained her head entirely, concluding in a choker around her neck. It was a space-girl's helmet mask of cartoon imagination, for a girl who filled space with supreme erogination.

Sensory-deprivatory, her ears were plugged and padded within it, and where her ears were located was additionally marked visibly within the helm, by domes of ear-defenders-come-headphones, through which evil music throbbed 24-hours-per-day, or could if her mistress ordered it.

But Amanda in fact suffered enough from the shear mere fear silence and blinkered blindness in which she was, by the mask, the space-girl's helmet-mask, forced to dwell.

The proboscis gave the mask its other name: the elephant-mask of that claim to fame. Into her still stud-gagged mouth it ran: the proboscis. It was her elephant's trunk. Through it she must breath and draw up her food.

They, her tormentors, wanted to see the eyes. They saw the eyes. The eyes could not see them, for the helm was one part one-way mirror. Transparent on sides and back to let in light, but one-way mirrored at front so that all Amanda could see were her own eyes, filled with suffering and fear, being reflected in the mirror she constantly stared into, but could see no further than; even though her captors could look at her unseeing eyes and use them as the meters to measure the measure of her suffering.

Amanda had dared to kiss a girl from the upper classes. This was that girl's sister's husband's revenge.

‘Drip' ‘Drip'

Amanda was worth something on the market, so she needed to be kept in condition. In the USA, a black bitch in good condition was worth one-hundred-times a white. And Amanda was with milk, so she was marketable as a milk and wine bitch.

Some gentleness remained among Amanda's suffering, stumbling blind and deaf, a girl in hell: Amanda must live solely within her soul: within her mind. The supremely high intellect of the extremely intelligent Amanda, only aided and abetted her torment.

She could neither see nor hear nor hear nor see. Her only remaining senses were touch and taste. For touch she largely received wicked blows with the bitch-whip, or hard harsh pulls on the leash attached to her collar when they took her stumbling blindly as she must, on her twice-per-day wiggle-walk-crawls tied, as she now was permanently, as a bitch, to allow her to defecate in open public.

To let her crawl blindly crashing into obstacles or to graze her lovely complexion among thistles and brambles, was a consequence of the constant never-now-ending revenge being exacted upon her, for the assumption she had had the presumption to attempt to seduce the delectable Serna.

Some gentleness remained among Amanda's suffering, stumbling blindly and deaf, a girl in hell. She was being milked. She was being milked for her milk as such, and for the supreme sauterne the negress wonder was producing in her stress and fear: the delectably delicious white piss from her pee-pod.

She was being immaculately shaved and smoothed, and sweet lips kissed her grazes and bruises, showing that someone cared.

A gentle hand would lead her to squat astride a stainless-steel trough, and a pat on her pretty bottom would encourage her to release her hot wine: wine for the connoisseurs' connoisseur. The more beautiful the girl, the more beautiful the wine: Amanda's was accordingly supreme within the supreme.

She knew she was being farmed for her piss. The soft spring-water she was given to drink was that she performed the miracle of water-into-wine with, through the still of her divine body: she the divine brown vine producing the supreme of the cream of all white wines.

Sometimes she was made to drink constantly, so she would produce her finest white. Sometimes they had her crawl on a rolling road for endless hours, to add the delicate ochre to the heavenly dewdrops. A day without moisture and hard running, crawling on her hands and bound-up legs, gave Amanda the knowledge they were after her deepest darkest spiritual cognac.

Among her worst times were when she was menstruating and they were after her rare red. Then she would run in thirst all day on the treadmill, sealed up, so that her pee would mix with her menstruum, to produce a blend more ruby than Oporto's opposition at its finest

If anything, even worse still, was when they whipped her cunt with the bitch-whip to sting her into the arousal she could not help, anymore than she could help being a girl, so that her produce was mead: her mid-ochre sanctified with a tincture of her girl-honey.

‘Drip' ‘Drip'

Amanda would never know it, but she was more than paying for her kennelling and keep with her wine alone. Further profit came from her milk.

Amanda's only comfort was the kissing of her bruises and being milked. Such gentle hands took hold of her, Small in span, it took both hands to seize around and lightly squeeze, with a downward pull and flow of the hands down the breast, to make Amanda's milk spurt squirt from the nipple.

In the insulated isolated hell in which Amanda's mind now dwelt, so that she was reduced to the status of less than an animal, she was being kept alive, it almost seemed, for the produce of her body: being, in blunt fact, farmed.

Amanda was milked three-times per day. Under each breast, unbeknown to her, save that she sometimes touched their coldness, was placed a shining clean stainless-steel bucket. And for the next fifteen minutes, as she squatted over them, her tits were squeezed in alternate turn, so that the white milk shot from the brown beauty of her full udders, to splash the side of each bucket in turn, with a sharp short white jet, time over time, till her ducts were emptied and her nipples plugged till she filled-up once more.

To be milked was to be touched, and the touch, though always strictly for the purpose of the performance of milking her tits, was gentle and human from the feel of the fingers, and the only contact with humanity Amanda in her mask had, along with her shaving and depilation-creaming, with the sneaked kisses on her bruises.

Twice per day too, they filled her helmet with a wash to rinse her hair and cleanse her mouth, and she would luxuriate, even though in fear of drowning, as she must trust that the spray introduced to cleanse her, behind the all-embracing helmet she was covered by, would be allowed to exit the proboscis trunk by which it had entered, so she could breath again.

Amanda's diet comprised spring-water and soups. There was no intention to starve her. She had marked market value. She must trust. She could see nothing and so she must be without mistrust that the snout from her mask would be put into her food, for she would never ever be able to find it for herself.

In the solitary confinement of her soul-destroying helmet-mask, Amanda's mind was in total turmoil. Loneliness knew new meaning from no meaning to life. If only she could hear another girl speak. In her lit kennel, if only she knew if it were day or night. She had even forgotten if it was winter or spring. Sleep and its oblivion were her only solace. The thought she must spend the rest of her life as a bitch in this mask was the thought she had most need to drive out of her mind, though, in fact, it was driving her out of hers….

‘Drip' ‘Drip'

‘Drip' ‘Drip'

………………..

Amanda shuddered, and shook her hugely glorious tits to stop it; but it was unerringly accurate and hit her softly, twice more, and twice more, and twice more, and twice more, and twice more. It was cool, it was cold, and it was inexorable.

There was no court. Amanda was simply required to sign to say that she was guilty. Bravely she declined. Offered a second chance, she politely declined once more.

It had taken all four of the four months of Amanda's bitch-bound captivity for Girl-Control to catch up with her. Statutory rape. Serna was above marital-age. Any girl of thirteen or more could marry post the 2084 Marriage (Girl-Girl) Amendment Act. But Serna had not consented; at least so her sister-in-law had insisted, despite, and to spite, and spike anything Serna herself might say.

Serna had refused to give evidence. Amanda had rebelled for the first time in her sweet young life, by refusing to confess: refusing to sign.

It was laser-guided: they were laser-guided: they were laser-guided not laissez-faire.

Amanda shook her helmet-masked, elephant-masked, head, and waved her glorious bosom, but still they hit her softly, twice more, and twice more, and twice more, and twice more, and twice more. It was cool, it was cold, and it was inexorable. It was alternating, left right: left right; left right; left right; left right.

Amanda's nipples were driving her insane. And still they hit her softly, twice more, and twice more, and twice more, and twice more, and twice more. It was cool, it was cold, and it was inexorable, it was alternating, left right: left right; left right; left right; left right.

“Confess”

“Deny”

“Confess”

“Deny”

The voice in her ear was whisper-soft sensual and sexual and six-hours long since begun in the earphones in the helmet, in what the Girl-Control officers called the Chinese-Drip.

Amanda shook her breasts. Oh god it must stop. Oh god stop it. Oh god, don't let it stop. And it dropped, and it dripped, and it hit its hugely swollen targets right on target, left and then right, cool cold drip, drip; drip, drip; drip, drip; drip, drip.

“You sure you set that fuckin' fing up right, you stupid mare?” the sergeant in charge charged her junior.

“She's bin onnit fer six fuckin' ‘ours now. She's fuckin' enjoyin' it. Just look at the nips on ‘er!”

Amanda's nipples were hugely distended and plainly painfully pleasurably aroused

Her eyes, her glorious dark-brown-devil-in-the-detail-eyes, looked into her eyes reflecting off back from the mirror helmet she wore, steamed up by the vapour of her breathing, and the hyper-heightened state, of her all-girl arousal.

This would be her one-hundredth cum. Tied strapped standing fixed to a rigid upright rod, her helmet radio-signalled by the machine to interrogate her, the laser guided the drips of water onto the tips of her nipples, and the intermittent upward spouts that divided her love-lips to take her to final arousal, and take her to finality when aroused, were aimed so that she would cum and cum, till she succumbed to cums, and confessed to what her helm ordered; had it been set up as intended.

The laser-guided droplets on her nipples dripped unmercifully on.

The love fountain spurted upward with unmissing force, to force apart Amanda's minx-lips and wash her out. But it spouted and she shouted within her helmet with the joy of her century of cums: cums meant to drive her long since to unbearable agony as her body could and would take no more, long since ago as the voice instructed:

“Confess”

“Deny”

“Confess”

“Deny”

“Confess”

“Deny”

“You fuckin' stupid mare! Just look at dat fuckin' switch will yer! Wot do it say onnit eh? I'll tell yer what it sez. It sez ‘confess' or ‘deny'. You iz supposed to put it on one or de fuckin' uvver. You've left de little fucker neiver ‘ere nor dare. You fuckin' stupid cow! We've ‘ad dis tart on der machine all dis time and it ain't no fuckin' wonder she ant confessed none, cos you ant set de fuckin' switch and she dunno what she's bin told over de earphones to do: do she eh?!”

The sergeantess was used to incompetence. She watched Amanda's one-hundred-and-first cum on the computer-guided water-torture machine, and thought: ‘My god she is so fucking gorgeous', as she turned to her junior, the girl she had been berating with resigned humour despite her exasperation.

“And wot iz it now?!”

“Ders a girl outside sez we got Amanda Heavensent ‘ere; and ‘ow she's de one wot Heavensent is accused of ‘avin raped, and ‘ow she'll sign anyfin' we want ‘er to, to confirm ‘ow it were not nuffink of de sought”.

………………..

Amanda and Serna had hired two ponygirls: one a negress and one a white. They would have preferred the matching black ponies they had wanted to buy a while since, but Serna was not that wealthy. Better still than hiring or buying a girl-gig would have been to buy a girl-car. Amanda was willing to be its motor, but Serna would not let her wife lower herself, and they could not afford both the cycle-frame and a girl-motor.

Amanda looked sensually sensational as she sat in the gig. She was in summer colours. The dress, micro-micro-mini, was pure white, and tight on her supremely shapely figure. Braless full and bold, her breasts softly flowed and rolled with her enchanting movements.

Long sleeves to slender wrists, neckline high with Chinese collar, but it was, of course, boldly bountifully bulged-out by Amanda's beautiful bosom. Over her shoulder from the front left of the hem, passing through her dream cleavage, was the seven-stripe decoration, depicting all the colours of the rainbow, ending in a golden glowing full-shining depiction of the sun and moon, overlapping with the sun predominant, both made three-dimensional in more than all that mere star and moon's comparatively extraordinarily ordinary glory, because the sun and moon were depicted fully filled, and thus fully fulfilled, on the rear of the dress filled by Amanda's glorious bum.

As Amanda sat on the glory of her bottom on the glow of the pictured sun and moon, her hem was high on thighs bare, for her stockings, snow-white contrasting with her incomparable comparative negress' brown, sheer silk with fashionable seams, had their tops stretched and veed by suspenders long beyond her hemline, in line with the fashion for underwear outer-wear, and stocking tops just above, and never more than just, a girl's knees: suspenders thus enticingly long from belt on hips below naturally narrow waist, with suspenders down thigh front and over cheeky bummy cheeks, now stretching them as she sat upon them, a light delight, back now to 100-pounds of one-hundred-percent girl.

On her feet Amanda wore tiptoe booties, with front heels, curving her feet to keep her on tiptoe, and thus curving her calves to that infinity of the complete definition of the ultimately divine curved curves, which are the curves that girl gives gift to the world: even girl's straight being curved.

Girl is a conundrum's conundrum.

And around her hips, atop her suspender belt, Amanda wore a hook-belt. On the hooks of the belt fore and aft, were the hoops. And the hoops were on a towel. And the towel was an adsorbent pad. And into her sanitary towel, Amanda was shedding her red tears, for she was anointing scarlet, being at that point in the periodic table when a girl makes white towel into minx-dawbed scarlet ermine or sable.

Her period was heavy, and showed in Amanda's eyes, tired by her period pain. Serna would probably want her tonight. Serna stood by ensuring she only had Amanda when Amanda was “safe”. The mischief she had been mislead to believe at St Virgo's School for Girls, was deep within the soul of the now sixteen-year-old Serna. And how long had poor Amanda had longed for a cum to come to her now - was it two whole years already of having to fake and fain orgasm? The time was of no account to Amanda's husband-girl it seemed, as the sad Amanda sat while her red feminine streak, scarlet seep streamed.

………………..

Amanda had begged Serna not to ask for her hand in marriage. Of course it was necessary. In law, if pursued, Amanda had defiled Serna. Either Amanda had to be severely punished for her crime, or else the fornication had to be covered up by a wedding: and the wedding had to be soon, before word got around the upper reaches of society, where reputation mattered.

Had Amanda been kept prisoner by Serna's sister Veronica, or rather Veronica's husband Amelia, the whole matter could have been kept swept under the carpet of proverb. But the arrest by Girl-Control, after they had, at long last, caught up with their paperless-office paperwork, had risked the media getting hold of the story.

For Serna to marry below her class was thus an unfortunate necessity.

A wife of such low caste was not acceptable in society of course, and that is why Amanda sat patiently in the hired girl-gig. Serna was visiting her sister Veronica: Amanda was not allowed into Amelia and Veronica's house.

And so it had been at the wedding, with no family there for poor Serna, who was marrying to honour a girl she had hated to see in pain, when her sister-in-law, Amelia, had cruelly kicked and whipped her: a girl whom Serna herself had insisted upon milking, so that she should not be hurt by the sadistic Amelia.

Of course Amanda had, if not at the time, subsequently realised how things had been during her months in the mask. She too had honour and, although the threat of undefined punishment at the hands of the state, for fornication, hung over her, had still begged Serna not to ask her to marry her.

But Serna had asked, and how could Amanda have said ‘no'?

……………

Amanda and Serna had done all they could, but both girls knew that the marriage was a disaster.

Amanda's social ostracism was a schism. Despite being married, Serna could take her wife to no worthwhile place that would admit her within its walls. Amanda was low-born, and had been a one-time slave. One did not allow such trash within one's domain; even if she was indisputably divine.

Bed was boring. Amanda needed sex. Amanda needed good sex. Serna was hopeless in bed. Okay she had those incredible nipples; but she had no imagination and no finesse, and would not allow Amanda to take the lead, let alone teach her. Feminine pride was foremost.

So inept was Serna, that it came as a shock to Amanda, to find that Serna had somehow managed to lose her virginity. Amanda knew for sure that she, Amanda, had had no part to play in that wonderful wonder. Surely Serna had not dared to disobey the strict strictures and biblically brimstonic lectures at St Virgo's, where a girl caught self-masturbating would receive one-hundred strokes of the cane on her bare bottom before the whole school, and even then be expelled?

Amanda had become quite an actress. She had had so to do. Only taken by Serna when her, Amanda's, monthly was in full flow, Amanda had known no pleasure from her husband, bar that of imagining she was overdue the best best-actress oscar of all time.

The visits by Serna to Veronica had gradually, and of late particularly, become more frequent, and Amanda had had to sit for endless hours, an outcast, outside in the hired gig, with just the lovely ponygirls champing on their steel mouth-bits, for otherwise silent company.

And at the end of the evening, Amanda would have to cast her eyes down, because she could not bear to look.

Her treatment in the stretch-limo by the dozen girls, among them the lovely Veronica on her “hen night”, a pre-marriage last fling, drunk and irresponsible on girl-champagne, was now forgotten by Amanda, overwhelmed as she was by seeing the incredible Veronica again: for even Serna's beauty was surpassed by her sister Veronica's.

Not even the sun in all its midday Sahara searing glory could hold a torch to the glistering copper gold or the tumultuous torrenting twisting turning tormenting curling whirling tear-drawing amazement of the maze of Veronica's way-beyond-ankle-length shimmering shining flowing flawless floor-trailing train of perfume-perfectioned hair.

And those eyes: eyes as green: no: more green than Serna's were saffron-yellow. They looked at one so boldly, and directly, and warmly, and trustingly, and honestly, and alarmingly disarmingly, as Veronica smiled, with her sweet-scented mouth breathing air she scented with her personal perfections, so that you longed to draw near and draw the breath she had exhaled to scent the world with the perfume of girl, and to breath where her nose and mouth sent the air scented with sensation of girl.

And her smile, shy and yet brave, sent one into raptures that captured one's heart, as her toy to enjoy or destroy, as was her right, for she reined supreme in her majesty, though her words gave only the routine.

“Hi Amanda. How lovely to see you. I'm sorry you couldn't come in, but Amewia, my husband, insists on proper form…..”

The voice was calm, fabulously feminine, with soft cadences sing-songing to arouse one's longing and love, for mere lust was lost, with the heart scorched by the supreme present of the mere presence of such a girl as Veronica.

“My you do look pwitty. I wuv the dwess”, Veronica shone out, with sparkling stars in her glorious eyes and her genuine delight.

Even on-heat Amanda felt her heart race as the heart-faced pale-ghost-complexioned copper-tressed temptress drew nearer, with her red-lips moist and smiling sincere sincerity and sweet soft succulence in immeasurably unequal equal measure.

“Oh. Thank you my lady!” Amanda managed at last, her heart nearly bursting into her mouth with the palpitations that overwhelmed her whenever she saw this goddess of the goddesses.

“Oh, come now Amanda, do pwease call me Vewonica! You have evewy wight to do so now. You are mawwied to my sister after all! We are all sisters now aren't we?” Veronica soothed.

Veronica seemed not to know the spells she cast. Perhaps when every girl you speak to reacts with the same nervous devastation, you assume that that is the way of things, and do not attribute it to your ecstatic profoundly disturbing flowerful fragrant presence.

………………..

Amanda was obliged to go into a back room or stay in the kitchen when Veronica and Amelia return-visited as a couple.

Even if she were Serna's wife, the wife of her wife's sister, Amelia would not visit Serna and Amanda's home, unless it was arranged that Amanda neither be seen nor heard whilst the visit took place. For Amanda even to be allowed to stay in the same house, was a concession.

When Veronica was on her own on a visit it was different.

Amanda had been caught off-guard that time. Serna was at her office in downtown Manhattan.

Platforms with twenty-inch heels are not the most practical of footwear for housework, but Amanda had just been bought this pair of dream shoes by Serna, as a token of love, and had been unable to wait to try them on.

The joy of being erected on tiptoe on the thirteen-inch-deep platforms with the holes for her big toes, as if a monument statue ordained by statute to her own statuesque beauty, gave Amanda a thrill as she admired herself in the marital bedroom's full-length mirror.

The shoes were a gorgeous powder-blue as, by coincidence, was the throw-away PVC dress Amanda three-dimensionally voluptuously volumed for her household chores to come, turning to look in the mirror and sigh with smile and pleased eye, that her bum looked so big in this.

Serna had promised they would have a maid. But even a school-aged girl from the lower classes was expensive to hire from the agencies, and Amanda would not hear of them buying a slave: recalling all too well her own experiences, and knowing most slaves were girls who had been made to become slaves because they had been very naughty.

The throwaway dresses, such as Amanda presently wore, were a boon for housework.

Amanda giggled at a passing fancy fantasy as she thought of wearing such a garment at a party or fashion show.

‘And the fashionable Mrs Serna Hayden-Standish – “Amanda”, but only to her close friends of course - was delectable in a figure-hugging housework-mini-dress of genuine throwaway PVC, in the most divine powder-blue, ensembled with matching platform shoes, handbag, and pillbox hat, causing quite a stir and putting the models at this year's New York Fashion Week to startled dowdy flight.'

‘So it's back to the drawing-board for the ladies of the fashion industry, who perhaps should look to the shelves of the Volmart Hypermarket chain for next year's look, as has Mrs Serna Hayden-Standish for her delicious little blue number, to create this year's outrageous fashion rage.'

Amanda put a delightful four fingers to her goddess' gift lips, as she imagined this fashion-page article in the New York Penetrator's weekend colour pages, with lots of pictures of herself in this clinging second-skin of course.

The smile and joyous laugh was added to, and caused lovely breasts to flow with the imparted impact of girly-giggle, as Amanda imagined she would also be interviewed and photographed for ‘Hi' magazine in her housework apparel too.

Amanda turned and admired her bottom again. Then she kissed a pretty palm, and blew herself a giggle-kiss in the mirror filled with her divine behind, behind her.

Maybe she should kick off the shoes, she thought. Good job she was not going out in this dress too, you could see the outline of the ropette-girl-cinch panties she wore.

Amanda loved to wear these panties. They were so simple. The soft rope paid lip-service to being panties, as they passed around her hips where the upper boundary of her bottom began to smooth into her arched back. From the single strand around the waist, another soft ropette went between the legs and paid service to her lips, dividing them and holding her divided.

Amanda liked this for the excitement factor. They were meant to be for when she was on a monthly losing streak; but frustration with Serna's inadequacies in bed, prompted Amanda to sneak a pair on when Serna was out. After all, it was not masturbation if you did not touch yourself, and she could not be blamed if her cinch-panties rubbed her up the right way as she wore them around the home all day!

……………

The doorbell was ringing a second time. Amanda had heard it the first, and either not really registered it, or put it down to some tradesgirl or the postgirl, having dropped a package on the doorstep, and meaning to summon the maid that Serna and Amanda did not in fact have, because they could not afford.

There was no time to change now. Perhaps indeed, it might be something important for Serna.

Amanda was all wild wide wiggles as she strided the stairs down to the hall, tall in her twenty-inch slopping platforms, and only too conscious, of her braless breasts beating flowing time on her chest, with her every delightfully dainty tiptoed step on a steep downward tread.

From the frosted-glass side-widow next the solid front door, Amanda could see the Russo-Siberian enchantress Amelia and Veronica owned as their girl-motor, or at least as their second girl-car, since they also owned a six-girl model, that could do 50 when the motors were at full-pedal.

Of course Amanda knew that Veronica used the smaller vehicle as her runabout, adoring being powered around by the long long legs of Verishmikaya Katayashikia Verimshayata, the overwhelmingly lovely silk-blonde Siberian, who was as wonderfully warm and charming, and as full of uncontrollable feminine giggles and smiles, as she looked superiorly serenely coldly aloof, and tsarinarally imperial, with her supremely high cheekbones and startlingly brilliant Antarctic-sky-blue eyes: the blood royal still pulsing through her passionate veins, despite her come-down to mere motor-girl.

Amanda just knew it was Veronica outside: Veronica come to see her sister Serna.

Amanda just knew it was Veronica outside, even before she caught the stunning haloed rusting-gold-copper warm glow of Veronica's gorgeous gorgeous hair through the security spy-hole, and began, with her poor heart thumping in her lovely chest, for feelings she knew she had no right to feel, to undo the lock on the door.

“My lady…Veronica: you are so very welcome: you do look so lovely” Amanda blurted out autopilotly, with understatement to the fore, as she bid the flawless Veronica have the floor, and the angel's angel's angel sanctified her home with the tiptoed steps with which she made the world heaven, her russet-gold glory gliding in cloak at her hind and over one arm, after tumbling in cascading caress down her femininely finely arched back, over the white silk blouse her bosom fored, and the blue jeans her bottom afted, both fore and aft oppositely appositely blessed by their undoubtedly girl-full, full filled, fulfilment to no excess.

The glorious curls-within-curls that bubbled and bobbled down from this girl's lovely head, she must needs carry over one pretty arm, were they not to be dragged on the dusty sidewalks, but now she could release them on Amanda's spotlessly clean floors, and in slow motion bounce and flounce they coiled and sprang and recoiled in cupric copper swing, as she shook her head to settle her crowning glory, and the fragrance of her hair, caught Amanda agape with astonishment, as it filled her sensitive nostrils, and made her faint with barely disguised desire, as the cool coiled copper of Veronica's hair now graced the floor behind Veronica's graceful fragrant feminine tiptoe-topped presence.

“Serna…. my husband…. your…your sister, is out my lay….I mean……Veronica”, Amanda stumbled out somehow, as she gazed at all the glory that is girl, her pupils wide and widening to take in the light this creature gave to the world.

Veronica smiled, and the sun gave up the contest. Her smile was sad, but the lips and the eyes told of its full and complete genuinity.

“May I come in……?” she smiled again, and Amanda realised that she, Amanda, was simply staring stunned completely, and as completely forgetting her manners to an honoured guest, she was still detaining just inside from her front doorstep.

Amanda blushed. She had been looking at the shear silk white blouse Veronica gave feminine form to, and realising that, although Serna and Veronica as sisters seemed so different in so many ways, their colouring of hair and eyes not least, two things were a family heirloom, and these were what were making Veronica's blouse contain two tall tepee tents. And Amanda felt quite breathless as she thought of the beauty of those tents' intense tent-poles.

“May I come in……?” Veronica smiled repeating yet again, and a light delightful approaching giggle-laugh told Amanda that her obvious admiration was wholly welcome, but that her guest needed looking after as well as looking at, and should be allowed to fully enter Amanda's home.

“I'm so sorry………” Amanda began………

“No apology needed sweetheart….” Veronica smile-whispered with a look of the sweetest tenderness…. “I'm very flattered”.

This honesty spake what should not have been spoken between two already bespoken wives, and Veronica's sudden pink-rose flush told Amanda that she should act as if she had not heard this said; as if it had never ever been thought, let alone spoken.

“Do please come in. I'm so sorry. Didn't expect. Housework. Would have dressed properly had known. Most unbecoming. Throw these dresses away when you've used them. Love your broach. Bought it who? Did Amelia? Lovely husband you have. Shoes? Oh Serna bought them for me. Whim I think. Likes me tall and leggy: you know what husband-girls are like! Are they diamonds? It's so pretty. Did she? Soon be a director. She's heading for the board. Amelia works so hard too. Still they have to earn if they want us to look pretty for them! Hope to get a maid if Serna gets her directorship. Selling those Canadian girls to Australia was a brilliant move. Amelia. Arbitrage. Quick off the mark like that. Better slavery than starvation. Brisbane? I hear it's very humid in summer. Just visiting? Fly around the world like that. I bet. Tiring. Must be. Bet she loves those leggy airhostesses though! She's such a one for the girls. No disrespect. No offence. She just has a sparkle in her eyes. Sure she's faithful. Girl always knows. Sorry I said. Not meant to come out that way. Know Serna loves Amelia. Like another sister to her. Marriage suits you. Lovely couple. Marvellous home. Your choice décor?. Only seen it through windows of course. Perfect taste. Somehow thought might be. Sure Amelia too. Joint choice? Husbands know better, but we know best! Have to let them think they are in charge. Incredibly long. Really so lovely. How often wash. Shampoo? Oh, I know. So expensive! Always look immaculate. Never cut? Never ever? Two maids to comb and brush? Only toast with girl-butter. Catches the 06.30. Weekends sometimes. City. So hard! Need to make relax. Always wants me at most feminine. Run her a bath so she can soak. Shower mornings. Likes fragrances. Bath salts. Vegetarian. Girl-milk. Girl-cheese. Girl-butter. Girl-yoghurt to take to work for her lunch. Likes quiet. Hard day after. Not vegan. Make my own cheese. Recipe in ‘Hi'. Use own milk. From supermarket; not me! Sorry. Talk like a maid. Once maid always a maid. Did not mean offend. You're marvellous listener. Real lady. Forgotten how talk to lady. Nothing to do but look pretty for Serna. Great honour. Love your sister. Humbled by her proposing. Such an honourable girl. Such a loving giving girl……… More tea?”

Amanda rambled and gabbled as she sat conspiratorially leaning toward Veronica, who perched her pretty-pert pretty derriere almost off the lounge couch, with her glorious curled whirled copper-red hair, a conspicuous cornucopia in glow and flow, arranged ranged on the throne she made by her sitting, long alongside her. Her lovely white hands nestled in her bejeaned lap, and her fabulously fresh and fully feminine heart-shaped face showed she was not listening to Amanda's gabble; though not listening with the greatest of kindness and full-hearted gentleness and sympathy and empathy, and sisterly love.

A silence for which Amanda herself was grateful, such a fool did she feel she had made herself by her totally nerve-wracked, nerve-wrecked, wanting-oh-so-much-to-please monologue, now pervaded and prevailed pausally pregnantly.

As Amanda had leant forward unselfconsciously endeavouring to endear herself to Veronica, with no need of trying so hard, the curved neckline of her PVC dress had revealed her cavernous cleavage and her huge breasts, wildly free, sans bra, teardrop-shaped by the pull of gravity and the constraints of the plastic that enveloped and contained and constrained their top-end magnificence, had flowed and bulged and bowed softly out-and-in, promising to sweep out at any time into the world that longed to see them.

Her nipples making smoothly sharp twin outward poking indentations in the cloying clinging plastic her body stretched to give its basic shapelessness full feminine form, also teased and pleased.

Tight stretched across her bare brown thighs, the hem of her powder-blue PVC dress had formed a high bridge - the bridge over her thighs: the bridge of sighs. And the hem bridge was so high up the long range of her belonging long legs, that, when her lovely legs had parted and thighed together as she had sincered innocently enthusiastically animatedly, the dark tunnel formed by the bridge, had glimpsed enabled a tease of her mystery moistening the ropette of her cinch-panties.

The eyes of the stunning Veronica knew not what of this beauty to admire next. The display was shy making. She knew that she could not help but look, but that she should not be looking, because Amanda was not meaning to disport herself so wonderfully fully, but, rather was lost in her desire to please, which she never failed to achieve and had no need of trying so hard; rather than to tease, which she never failed to achieve and had no need of trying so hard either.

Thus were rose-blushes gilding the lilly-white achingly desirable smoothness of Veronica's face, as she fought the desire of her eyes and her desire of desire, as her eyes ravished the ravishing Amanda. And thus was beauty's beauty in Amanda form starting a tear in Veronica's eyes and gentle soul, because of Amanda's innocence of what was happening: what was decreed desecrated.

“You know they are having an affair, don't you?” Veronica heavened with sweet scented accentuation silence-breaching breathless deathless breathing.

Instantly stunned: Amanda started, and her cup tipped over in its saucer, as the source of the story, surely a story, this seductive sorceress supreme, became a dream melting in tears of shock welling in Amanda's eyes before her.

“My lady? I mean Veronica? Amanda startle-strangle-choked as her pretty left hand shakingly recovered her tumbled, fortunately already previously empty-emptied, translucent bone china.

The long slim legs Amanda had unknowingly been admiring, as Veronica anointed Serna and Amanda's couch with her delightful derriere, were slimly curvedly shaping-out the blue jeans Veronica wore, as Veronica rose from her seat, a nerve of nerves, holding out her cup on saucer still, still as if she really wanted her cup re-charged.

“You do know? Of course you know!” Veronica repeated, emotionally exhausted, but supremely contained, as the weeks past of pent-up horror: now admitting she knew what she would hitherto never have admitted she knew, began to overwhelm her.

“Know? Know what my lay….Veronica?” Amanda stupidly stumble mumbled, as she too stood.

“They're having an affair: your husband and mine: Serna and Amewia”, Veronica repeated, teetering tiptoe topped in her pirouette-shoes and teetering too on tears.

“Oh no. You must be wrong Veronica… my lay……. Serna is in the City at Lady Love Lady and Co: her bank: the bank where she works …. She's headed for the board in time……….”

Suddenly, soundlessly, the scent of Veronica's hair flared Amanda's nostrils as the slim wisp-waisted waif with the train of cupric-curls, melted sobbing girl in arms of girl, her cup-on-saucer still held when Amanda had abandoned hers, comically clattering to shatter the peace of the union in harmony of two tiptoe topped teasers, four leggy legs of tall leggy pleasers.

From there no word was spoken for nature commanded and demanded and cup and saucer were abandoned tumbled floored as taller flawless Amanda platformed high shod, stooped to kiss and found fire. For this were Amanda's lips designed, for the kiss lived and loved and its name was Amanda. But it was as if their kiss meant nothing more than sisterly solace to Veronica as she sweetly slipped away having sipped the divine, or tried to, till Amanda ceased her escaping, by seizing her fingers gently, and letting her know by touch that she could go or stay: that she was free as flight to fight the gravity of love or face the crucial crucible. Then, suddenly Veronica was girl and knew nothing of half-heartedness. Certainty seared her between her legs and she dropped her tiny dainty hands from Amanda's, so that Amanda must take the lead and lift them to her lips in turn to kiss the fingertips, in seeking permission to kiss the girl, who now came-on with passion so full that it tumbled Amanda teetering tiptoetopically backwards, as she embraced the surrender and kissed the tender mouth, as scented as purely as it assented surely to the love that only a girl can give. And the timeless kiss over, Veronica's sleep seeking head was nodded on Amanda's bosom, and Veronica's mouth kissing her breast, at her deep cleavaged décolletage. And Amanda knowing the need indeed to feed the love that longed, made to her rip at her plastic dress' neckline, stretching the plastic that just would-not tear, and gently lifted out one bosom, baring, to give suck to the lonely girl who, wronged, longed for comfort at Amanda's breast. And sweet zephyred breath sighed, and divine mouth closed upon nipple, to suck and tongue and suckle, so milk softly flowed, sweet warm white from Amanda's sweet warm brown, and Amanda's longed-for little orgasmic deaths were asided as she let the wanting-of-love love her nipple, and suck her fill, till the tiredness of distress took Veronica down-seated, still in Amanda's arms loving, suckling like a babe on the beautiful pap, poked up peak hard by the sisterly suck. And still yet Amanda's cunt wanted to turn the loving feed into love's need, but her heart knew she must comfort before cum was thought. And now copper head was in coffee-brown lap, and the scent of Amanda's love-honey-soaked cinch-panties told of the physical match for the feminine formulation, as love was born and slept on Amanda's lap with gentle sigh, as it snuggled to warm bare thigh, and its copper gold curls coiled in priceless train long around Amanda's top-of-top tiptoed platformed dainty feet, and scent of saintly sleeping mouth mixed with scent of assenting seeping south, as Amanda's love poured in a stream of adoration-cream volcanic, from her inflamed-aflame fiery-frustration-burning sexually-searing sex-starved cinch-panty parted seam, longing so long now for a cum to come.