2084

2084 (by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 12 – Duplicity

Molleigh Malona was a stunning forty-year-old who had once gilded and glided the catwalks of New York, London, Paris, and Rome. So now it needed a little extra to the shampoo bottle to give her lustrous brunette hair its sheen. So what? Set high in practical ponytail for the working day, it still framed a face famed for its graceful Italianate looks, and its apparent imperiousness, sharpened by the nose and generously-lipped mouth, then softened by the hazel eyes: eyes that smiled above the gentle laughter lines that experienced her face.

Molleigh hated her job. Molleigh looked at the fabulous figure of the gorgeous younger girl at the desk before her. The girl's bejeaned right leg was being worked back-and-forth in a nervous signal the girl herself had no idea she was telegraphing. She was a negress with, figuratively speaking, a wonderful figure-eight body, and, without metaphor let alone simile, a stunning face. Oh god those eyes shone with such intelligence vivacity and gentleness; and her lips: those lips: that mouth: a kiss from this girl and one could happily, unhappily die of longing sighs.

Her pretty fingers were writing the usual in the register with the electronic quill: ‘Mrs and Mrs Amanda Smith'. ‘How original' Molleigh sighed in her vocal foremind.

A practiced eye, Molleigh's, noted the wedding ring was new to the left hand. This was no husband-girl; this was a wife acting cross-borderly. There had been lots of these of late: indeed just an hour earlier another two…….

…….The straight-haired pretty blonde desk clerk, a girl of no more than eighteen, made no sign that she recognised the hotel detective standing in line behind Amanda, but pressed a button below the counter, just before she turned the register around toward herself once more, and, as Amanda put down the stylus quill, handed Amanda the card-key for room 503.

“Modom's luggage?” the desk clerk enquired politely.

Amanda blushed. “I've just my purse. The rest is on its way from the airport by girl-cab: when they can find one… it I mean… find it: the luggage that is, I mean…when they can find my luggage…….. One of those mix-ups?” she whisper giggle lied: embarrassed at the way she had instantly forgotten her rehearsed answer.

The clerk's face showed no reaction, and thus made Amanda feel all the worse for fibbing, and fobbing her off with a blatant lie.

“Will modom be dining at the Hotel this evening?”

“Thank you, but I have already booked a table here for my …my wife and I”, Amanda dry mouthed with jangling nerves.

Her heart pounding, Amanda glided an arrow through corridors broad and narrow, conveying sinews and muscles so lithe so lithe oh.

In the ‘Le Rosbif Hotel America' chain, now so widespread, at least in New York State, casual dress was in order, as therefore were the blue jeans in which Amanda stroll strode, her rump by nature rocking and rolling their backsides, her legs shaping-out and out-shaping their legs, and, under her jeans' legs, her jeans over them, her dainty feet in 10-inch tiptoe-stiletto, soft brown kid leather calf-hugging knee-boots too, making her shake the snake, giving metronomes and pendulums both, a lesson in the way to sway, salivating the sensual senses saluting, stunned attentively worshipfully erect, as she made her sensational way: census entry: Question: ‘Gender?' Answer: ‘Girl!'.

Her duopoly ruled frontally too: her natural abundance at front, no affront, free to roam and roll within her figure-hugging citrus-orange long-sleeved roll-necked vest, fashion: wearing as she did, only an equally luridly glowing-lime-green thong under, over her tight inturning-lipped, immaculately smoothly completely depilated slit, and no other underwear such as might stop her nipples provokingly poking their pointed peaks, as her breasts wave-bobble swing-joggled to mind-boggle, as they were impacted, separately and together, parted by deathless' valley's breathtaking cleavage, imparted with emotion's potent potion by the jarring of her pulse-race-making motion.

It was a warm day and there was a hint of arousal in Amanda's nipples for which she should not feel the shame she was shied by, for she was only a girl being a girl.

And so too was there evidence of heat and humidity in the mint-green patch in her thong's otherwise lime-green gusset: girl-sweat, suggestive of an even more potent potion for the promotion of emotion.

Why the shame? The mind intervened interfered supervened, and fear made butterflies in her flat smooth tummy, for this was a girl in love.

Longing had insisted on evidencing itself in her body: the body of a girl made to love and for love, to give and receive love: a lovely girl in fact as well as metaphor, and it was but the humidity of the outside world she had left to the air-conditioned coolness in which her nipples prominently provoke poked, that was also the cause of her panty-patch, or else it was the humility of lovely girl being lovely girl before which all the world should be on its knees in prayerful gratitude.

Amanda looked what she was: adorable. She, for Amanda was ‘she' for sure, was made for love in heart and mind and soul and body, from dawn to dusk and dusk to morn, and she was in love. Amanda was in love heels over head, and Veronica was indeed its ‘true image' as name meant: and her name meant new-mint ferment for Amanda's heart's turmoil.

The sailoress' suit was seductively saucy.

……………..

Dinner had been arranged. Neither girl had admitted what they either or and both knew. It was of course; a palliative for two wives lonely without their husbands wasn't it? Serna at the bank and Amelia at the slave-exchange, both long hours junkies with careers foremost, trophy-wives two, two too neglected unconsidered trifles who should be happy with ‘Hi' magazine, and clothes and make-up, and the daily instalment of ‘Girl Street' on the telly-cube, and simply looking pretty, shouldn't they?

It was just to continue the frivolous chatter that they had just not had, as emotion had overcome the sensational Veronica, and swooned her into the incredible Amanda's loving arms, wasn't it?

Subliminal it was, but also criminal it was that these girls should not feel able to freely meet to make love. For negligence of husbands, now locked in each others' arms, had harmed the duty they owed to their marital spouses, and they must now turn to the duty they owed the world, for love could in deed, would indeed, never ever know such personification in perfection as the physical molten moulding of such naturally smouldering girls as these: Amanda and Veronica or Veronica and Amanda, love in the physical fulfilment of the heaven on earth that such beauty is and is, and deserves and deserves.

For both, both, four, all pretty hands shook with high desire as fire denied and sighs asided, they decided their electronic diary dates, that examined, casually coincidentally, showed that Amanda had a hair appointment the next day, and Veronica would be shopping for a wedding present in town also, at similar times. So dinner could be more quickly arranged than either girl had thought likely: was that likely? What a happy coincidence: or heaven's interjection: happenstance or manufactured confection?

That Amanda would need to bring her appointment forward from 19.00 o' clock, and that Veronica would cancel a visit to her other sister to Serna, to make room for the melting both humid girls' hearts were throbbing for, neither girl would ever tell the other, for white lie's were fored for what they are for.

A casual, “Till tomorrow then”, was belied by the loving look in Veronica's eyes as she parted from that visit to Amanda's home alone: a look that said ‘I love you' and that only the listening ears of Veronica's girl-motor, with her long leggy-legs pedalling Veronica's girl-car around to take her home, prevented Amanda saying to: “I too love you”. “I do love you”.

……………..

The sailoress' suit was saucy. Red white and blue, with the round red cap perched perkily on Veronica's sensational sensuous curls, making Amanda smile for its shear exuberance of exotic eroticness. The tight azure-blue trousers with their bell-bottoms and the pristine white and blue hoop-striped blouse, belled by Veronica's bosom, were bonuses. This was a ‘sailoress' so feminine, with the sweep of her girl's curls pouring in copper-gold to her ballet-shoe shod tiptoed ankles, and trailing in train on the floor she adorned. Veronica's look was confident of her beauty with all due cause, as she smiled soft pink lipped, and whisper-sanctified-mouthed, across the room to the breathtaken Amanda, a sweetly simple loving sparkling-eyed: “Hi!”

Gentle tears of love-found prickled Amanda's ocean-deep-dark-brown-eyes, as she smiled back, swallowing the metaphorical lump in her throat, and felt her heart leap from noticing that Veronica still wore her ring, her wedding ring, on her right hand wedding finger, confirming distaff to Amanda's switched over band making out as husband.

Even without that, it was assuredly surely written in the stars that Amanda would hold Veronica's chair for her to sit, and have her senses reel at the scent of Veronica's sensational coiffure, coiled curled and cascading interminably in tumultuous turmoil, as Veronica's heart-shaped phantom-pale face rose in blushed green-eyed-flashing-momentarily-lightening-bright-blue, with a “thank you”, that was as completely sweet for the holding of her seat, as for the seeping of her secret scent sent into her pink tanga-panties, by a girl pent up no more as she smiled the love she felt for the one she adored.

Amanda's eyes were transfixed by the upright stiffness of Veronica's candle-nipples, as Veronica knew she would and should be, for why else would Veronica forego a brassiere, save to let nature have its day, knowing her two-inch long nipples' way was indeed to persuade as they swayed that way?

Both girls knew that, in public, they must talk, even though they also wanted just to look and smile and kiss, and the talk they wanted to talk was not really of food and wine.

Veronica was now cool before the inexperienced Amanda, whose life had been sheltered and low caste, cast low as she had been by her lowborn origin in a world she had only risen in since, because of her sensational loveliness.

It was as if Veronica was unaware of her dancing nipples orchestrating a crescendo, as her breasts bobbed duoetically and sometimes separately, making her sky-pointing two-inch long teats, wave and wag and bend and contort, comporting come-hitherly, under her tight white-and-blue-hoop-striped blouse, poked out, far from disappointingly, pointingly pointedly.

In fact Veronica was studiously unaware: aware unaware, for she knew she fascinated with her tall thimbles, and turned girl's heads galore, who must look a second time and a second time again, to be sure and store the sensation they were unsure their eyes on stalks had assured them were real, as they saw the tents Veronica's teats contentedly pushed up in her blouse, and could only wet-dream of such wonders as could cause such thrusting two in number. And only Veronica's sweet blush at their bold stares would make them aware, that these were the steeples and this was a walking cathedral of womanhood to worship, and that wolf-whistle was crude and rude, for this was girl to be pursued by one, and won by woo.

“Pwease may we have a bottle of the Vérone '63, it's a sweet white girl-pee best served moderately chilled. They'll put it in an ice-bucket weady for our meal. It's weally wewy nice Amanda!” Veronica softly and gently guided. “It was from fwee-wange peasant girls, fed only on a diet of white gwapes and water diwect from the local spwings….It has a mewodic bouquet and an aftertaste wedolent of carnival. The Fwench are unsurpassed in the girl-pee world….!” Veronica continued, latterly giving of the opinion of her husband, Amelia, who in turn had been quoting verbatim from ‘FemWine Folio', the illustrated magazine that came free with the ‘New York Penetrator', on every fourth Saturday, without attribution for its contribution.

“Anyway: that's what Amewia always says………”

Veronica's sparkling eyes said, ‘I love you, and I am nervous of saying the wrong thing to you'.

Amanda reached out a hand and touched Veronica's fingertips.

In an instant, Veronica lowered her head to hide her lovely love blush, and buried herself in a menu she was not really seeing, for all and every nerve of her being was on the touch, and she would and could not remove the hand touched, it touched her heart so.

The wine-waitress hovered: Molleigh in disguise, checking.

“The '63 Vérone in an ice-bucket please: we'll order food shortly”, Amanda smiled.

Molleigh Malona was astounded by the lovely face that looked up so gently at her, and lowered her head not only in long practiced imitation of a servile waitress, but also in service of worship of the divine Amanda whose merest wish would be any girl's command.

“An excellent choice modom”, Molleigh sincered, sincerely not practicedly perfunctorily, as Amanda continued to award her natural warmth in incalculably invaluable smile, shy and soft, and searingly loving and lovely.

Waitresses admired they both: Amanda and Veronica. Amanda now revealed she had, at a Le Rosbif Diner in Scotland, before Elspeth Zamori's empire had entered the Americas, once waitressed too, to Veronica's upper-caste astonishment, which had never held court to thought too much before that these girls were human, and had lives and worries and loves too.

The tall mature woman that had served them wine, wore a long dress voluptuously formationed by her, and marking her as maîtresse sommelier, a superior to the routine waitresses.

The young serving wenches were dressed to please and tease. The Le Rosbif Hotel America chain, lent lean keen to Beefeater uniform as in English castle guard of ancient fame, the Tower of London photo in frame, but no dames among them as in these damsels to set the pulses aflame.

White ruffles as choker at neck, and bands at wrists, witty in imitation of London's fair city where the girls are so pretty and the world once set eyes on sweet Amanda alone: a strongly boned corset red and uplifting, and ruffled in white at décolletage deep, swept-up bosoms to peep, wide parted cleaved, by under-wired cups to on-counter their soft countenances, encountered popped up near to popping out, curved up, and heaved when heaven breathed.

Accoutrement: no panties, bar a thong-band fitted to front and back of tight red corset, to conceal that she was not a man, as if such a doubt could ever enter bout against her body's shout. Bottom consequential consequently bare, hair in freefall tumble, divine dive controlled by white headband, name abalazoned at forehead, headband to free face, for smile customary for customer consumption, and presumption that she was bed-mate material to realise materialised, dream come true wise.

And the stockinged thighs and legs tiptoed skyscraper in soft ballet shoes leather red, red stockings seamed seemingly to add steam, suspended from suspenders two on the corset, but also with white ruffle as single garter too, worn left thigh by order, at stocking's top: this was devastation from the female of the nation.

And Elspeth Zanori had had them ballet trained, so the girls had gained a walk that talked of deep seated sexuality unsated, to unseat with its heat, as each foot was not just put directly before the other, as she wound sleek her way, but over and beyond, to fore and then opposite side, so she swayed her way, her twixt-legs honey-lips, chewing on an imagined penis, in enchanting entrancing dance to trance, as her legs teased and pleased with the warmth of her wiggle, a wiggle with a giggle to smite the coldest heart with smart sharp start from cupid's arrow shot by ingenious Venus' genus: girl.

“Hi. I am Jessica: your serving angel? I am here to take your order and to make your meal momentously memorable. If my services are not fully satisfactory to you, you may have me whipped?”, whispered the ‘angel' of the name she had labelled herself aptly now just, and justified thus.

This was shyly spoken by a girl knowing nothing of slyness, 5-feet-four to adore, with smile one-billion dollar genuine, as told by eyes taking toll with their dark blue sparkle, among wheat-corn-outglowing shoulder-length naturally sun-highlighted silken soft blonde hair.

“Pwease may I start with ‘girl-yoghurt tinctured with girl-honey'?” Veronica blushed, raising her flushed face, and not moving the fingers that were being touched by the girl touching her heart so.

“My wife will start with ‘girl-yoghurt tinctured with girl-honey', and I will have the ‘soft girl-cheese en melon' please”

“Your command is my deepest pleasure” the lovely waitress parroted as taught.

“You are very lovely Jessica”, Amanda awarded as the waitress began to turn to show again her gorgeous bare bottom melons, feeling, as Amanda must, empathy sympathy for a girl in the place she had once adorned with a bottom equally wicked in its wanton want provocation.

“I am sure you will serve us perfectly”, Amanda continued as the confused serving angel, turned and curtsied a second time, even lower than her extremely leggy-thighy first.

“Thank you my lady: you are so very kind”, Jessica whispered, overwhelmed to be recognised as a human with human sensibilities and needs and emotions, having just recovered from six-of-the-best from the cane on her bare chest, and unpaid unemployment because unemployable for a month till her consequent considerable stripes had healed.

Jessica's ministrations were intended as significant: as significant as her legs were damned pretty, and thus pretty damned magnificent, as she served servilely entirely, the messages of her body massaging thoughts of love, that the pretend husband and wife she served solely, were husbanding in their souls for each other.

If a love tryst could be given an ideal twist, the fruity embellishment of the cocktail of the cockless coxless pair, fingers touching table across, star-crossed lovers, and leavers of fingers in sweet schoolgirl-like first love's first touch wanting last forever embrace, then that embellishment was Jessica, for she too could hope for the love that she could almost touch, and was touched by in her heart and core, as she sold the lovers she could see absorbed by each other's sensation, their choice choices from menu, and was discrete discretion not to overhear what she longed to, to learn of the love she could see, and longed to be a part of: the party to go to too.

Veronica learned a lesson from Amanda's kindness to the girl, who was in fact an indifferent and rather clumsy waitress.

Her real husband, Amelia, would have had the Jessica whipped even had she been perfect, for Amelia knew no persuasion that girls such as Jessica, a fired mathematician who had inspired a team landing a roving robot on the planet Pluto not seven-years since, but now at twenty-seven, reduced by the girl-laws and sudden poverty to this, had any right to a happy life. To Amelia, Jessica was trash to thrash, the whip being all such rodents understood if they understood anything at all.

Neither girl minded Jessica's clumsiness, as both admired Jessica on display for that purpose that way, and putting extra swerve into the walk with which she served, and the wiggle she reserved for when her rear appeared after tray she had emptied, and returned by turning and showing her bareness bold in her round rump's pole-dancer's exaggerated come-on-and-spank-me-I'm-naughty, taunting teasing seizing pleasing, Morsing message: “ . . . / . - - . / . - / - . /- . - /// - - / . ” repeat “ . . . / . - - . / . - / - . /- . - /// - - / . as only a female's bum can signal-drum, to the cries of humility that its incredible wonder imparts to the heart that would throw itself on knees her feet to kiss, or merely the former filth her tiptop-tiptoed toes had Midassed gold with her steps, but for only that its worship would cease the drumbeat bum beat, that so teased, it pleased pleasure itself to plead encore! encore! oh goddess more! till: “ . . . / - - - / . . . ” was tapped out for sure! Thus it was with Jessica swishing Morse without remorse as she flicked her sexy bum as nature made her, and it, for to do: for this was girl's bare rear unbearably searing the seer!

But Amanda and Veronica had each other and neither would, as they could, order Jessica to their room so they could spank her.

And so the love fest was in the feast that followed, all light courses, with the discourse soft and gentle in a bubble-world in which the outside buzz of other voices was mood music, even while the second bottle of the vastly expensive 1763 Vérone, iced, half-consumed, in contemplation of love to be consummated, after a meal eaten one-handed, for neither angel could remove touched fingertips substituting for touching lips.

Amanda told of sailoress real she had been, as compliment to saucy sailoress scene, seen in Veronica's mode of dress, not a dress, but trousers tight and blouse hooped blue and white, with perky peaks poking and provoking. And Veronica fascinated blushed to hear edited elided, truth asided, save of the way that girl-sailors smoked, which provoked pretty gasp of embarrassed astonishment, hiding pleased anointment of gusset, no disappointment.

Even as they ate ‘503' was fored in Amanda's foremost thoughts. Would it break the spell? Was it presumptuous? Would this moment be the only moment, or had this moment momentum to be monumental and the memento of Amanda's lifetime lifeline?

Then Amanda was all girl and all loving giggle, as ‘504' saw she in Veronica's reticule, as nose to powder metaphor was fored, and Amanda must explain as Veronica arose a rose, that ‘503' was ‘504' too for two, and see Veronica blush, and smile with longing, and giggle too, that the two had concluded the same conclusion to their converse, was called for by all the angels in heaven overseeing these two on earth longing for their congress.

“May I have my hand?” Veronica smiled, knowing now that love was too far born to be torn by her need for the powder room, and that the loving tender fingertip grip born of love's flowering, could be broken without either girl's heart risking the flame dousing, the spell, cast like the die.

Amanda assented with eyes that shone with adoration, even as, to her surprise, Veronica re-seated herself and whispered, head shyly hung: “Shall I go, or would you like me to pee my panties for you?”

At this, Amanda's thong, already mint-green patched among its lime-green, where her purse had poured out her love, from slippery lips shining with Eros' exaltation, accelerated its exhilaration, as her mouth could not speak what Veronica knew was her answer, and knowing, thus settled more seated as the question was settled, to show that she would save her wine so Amanda could have her pee her panties, leave her to marinate her slit, or savour her mulled libation, poured straight hot from her love doors' formation.

“I've tasted your wine, but never warm”, Veronica shyly ventured, blushing divinely, recalling Amanda enslaved in the helmet-mask, and tasked to piss wine and be milked.

“Then we shall both sip heaven”, Amanda boldly asserted in corn cliché, but still apt appropriate and not approximate, as each girl knew that 503 and 504 awaited.

……………..

The half-hour of trepidation tremulous, ticked so slowly as Amanda had showered and put back on her soft leather shapely-calf-hugging knee-boots, in thought of re-dressing for corridor and knock on 504 door, thus this betraying portrait, her nerves were distorting her thinking, for there was a 503 / 504 door adjoining.

Room pacing, naked bar boots, with wiggle pronounced, no less mystically magical, albeit andante, she could wait no longer, else her heart would burst her chest with its pumping: so she knocked and turned the handle of the partition door and found it opening, still, till she saw the heights of heaven standing before her, a little surprised at the early ingress eagerness, but smiling with love and arms out-held to embrace the graceful negress.

Only balletic shoes did Veronica wear bar her hair overwhelming, and thus she was cloaked in fall of autumnal majesty, a tumble teasing tangle wrangle of copious copper curls of such abundance that only her nipples poked erect and attentive, a secondary incentive incendiary to love, in that magical moment, compared with the auburn curls of the Titian girl, cloaking her round in such a dress of coils and curls and copper and gold and whirls and swirls and twists and turns and spirals flamed fiery, inspiring fired desire, as her crowning glory torrented from her head a falls to her heels, reeling and rolling in mesmerising autumnal wonder, flowing in fall-leafed dark goldwater curl coiled rapids to the floor, in its flawless abundance, as its owner smiled, eyes aglow, wildly proud and rightly so, of the sight she blinded with the magnificence's magnificence of her queenly gold, golden wonder.

Love knew no help for Amanda as she knelt instantly on the floor, and reached out to kiss Veronica's feet in complete and utter adoration.

“My darling! My darling! My mouth is for kisses, you silly wickle angel! Veronica's lips wanting, lisped, as Amanda, prostrate in awe, kissed her tiptoed toes.

Then Veronica was nervous as Amanda looked love at her heart-face, and the kiss was to come, its delay promising poignancy, and the problem averted of how to react if it disappointed, as so surely it could not, could it?

Veronica's high tensile tension prompted irrelevance, as her copper curls shook with her highly-strung fear and trepidation: “This woom is wewy nice. The service at dinner was wewy good and that girl wewy pwitty. I would weally wike wewy much to come here again when………”

…….But Amanda's longing lips stopped the distracted angel's lovely mouth with her own no less more heavenly oral orifice, and kissed away Veronica's nervous nerve-wracked irrelevant words, as the universe imploded, with two girls made one, in the melting of the core, as time ended, and silence supreme reigned with nothing left in the universe bar the two merged peach's in each others' arms, so fully and closely and interminably unalterably perfectly intermingled, that they were one. Two was one and one no longer two, as the centripetality of the passionate kiss of two heavenly bodies, pulled them inextricably out of any further individual orbit, and they now knew no velocity could rocket them again ever, from their arrived entire eternity of mutual inescapable heart-centred gravity.

Then time momentarily exploded once more back to its current state. Momentary centrifugality, the real worlds noises around louder sounding. As if new heard, as girl and girl parted, Veronica's eyes still closed and then opening with one focus locus, locust to consume the smiling love that Amanda was radiating in her eyes' gentle near tearful sparkle, love having found love in love, as love loved love, as love must.

Then the sex imperial, that would seal love ethereal, arrived in all its joyous jousting, and the nipples knew the third kiss, as Amanda could no more resist, and Veronica softly sighed to return the day-before's compliment, though she was without the complimentary milk with which Amanda had soothed her tears that day, when the unfaithfulness of husband with husband had driven finally home in Veronica's denial mind.

Amanda, using sex to endorse the mutuality of the love of the two loves true loves, kissed just the tip of the two-inch-long love-candle that crowned Veronica's elliptical left mountain mound, and Veronica sighed with her first cum, so sweetly softly sensitive was her succulence, as Amanda now sucked her, and Veronica held the negress' lovely head in an embrace of adoration, as she came again to the suck of her left nipple, as her right throbbed, and her clit bobbed, and the bed now beckoned for the booted Amanda, removal forgotten, as timelessness and gentleness took the two heavens to heaven, with soixante-neuf six of one and nine of the other, as love's lips kissed love lips, and bodies rose and fell with joy, and sighs and gasps told of cums, the music of the spheres, as what should be was, and who should be were, and girl of girl and girl of girl, biblically knew each other, and that heaven was true and on earth for all they were worth, and their worth was the universe, as their kisses were alchemy and catalytic, and cum succeeded cum, as Veronica said “no” and sighed “no” and said “no” and sighed “no” and shouted “no!” as she thunder came under the sweet lash of Amanda's tongue flicking her clitoris licking and loving her little ball, and sighed “no” and said “no” and sighed “no” and sighed “no” and said “no” and sighed “no” and came again wild and insane with her golden head swinging on the bed in her coiled gold copper hair, wet with the sweat of the strain, as Amanda sucked her love bud and flicked it with her pointed tongue to anoint the angel's nodule, queen over her body and scream over her mind, as she sighed “no” and said “no” and cried out like pain's pain as she came again and again, and screamed again with joy with a cum to destroy, and sighed “no” and said “no” with her ringletted hair thrashing like a dervish's dervish, as she came, and squealed, and screamed, and Amanda worshipped her love lips long tonguing her slot till Veronica was shot like a dove felled with love's arrow, as her cum crisis cries hoarsed her to a holler, and she begged that the cumming should stop for she could bare no more, as Amanda's licks loved her, and she begged and moaned and caressed and groaned and pleaded for mercy and pity, and screamed with a cum so massive, it arched every lovely sinew and muscle in her divine body, and bridged her back to such rigidity as only death could otherwise have achieved, as she ached arched, and a lightening bolt bolted through her every tingling nerve, and her eyes were wild and wide, and she bucked and screamed and tore with her nails at the bedding, as her cum crisis crucified her, and broke her voice to a squeak so weak in contrast with her cum, that her giggle and her laugh girlniacal, and her tears, and her pain, and her smile. and her frown, were making her clown, as her mind knew madness from the rigidity of her glorious archedness, with her legs like supremely shapely sculptures, so tightly girlmuscled, and her buttocks side-dimpled to statued hollows, and her back bent beyond the bounds of nature and endurance to perform in any normal state bar that of deliverance and paralysis insistent in persistence, till she screamed with unbearable gain of the cumming of her whole mind soul and glorious body, as she bent yet more impossibly further up and back, with a cum's cum's cum, and hoarsely whorely howled and hollered with love's sweet pain yet again and final, with choirgirl's cries cathedralic and carnal, innocent, elemental, ingénue, fundamental: erotic: eternal: eternity's eternity: inverse-infernal.

As an angel sleeps so now too, instantly, did the copper-gold tousled Veronica, with fingers, hers, touching her touchingly lovely lower mouth to savour the love and joy just expended, such that her mind knew nothing but sleep could make her ready for more love than her physical and spiritual body could presently take, but would soon from her swoon refreshed for awake, as even her closed eyes showed the seraphic smile of the Sapphically satiated but insatiable, recharging for the fray that her nerves knew could break her, but which she could not forsake for she was love, and love must have love, for love loves love for love's sake. And a thumb, hers, was touchingly sweetly in her mouth for sucking, as if a baby's comforter for this babe of babes.

Amanda sleepless and so happy she could cry, looked at her love for the hours that tripped by with the curls of the girl that coiled in cupric joy, Cupid's toy, sleeping, as Amanda looked at love's sweet face and held guard over the love of all her sweet grace.

……………….

A commotion: a shout: and the door burst open!

Amanda shot up shocked on the bed, naked but for her boots. Veronica, a soft sheet drawn over her silken smoothness, but with one candle nipple poking sky-pointedly proudly provocatively potently over the sheet, as she sat up, sleepy still, with a: “What's going on my love?” sigh yawn stretch, till it dawned that this was a raid and she two on parade to be arraigned, were it not by Amelia arranged.

Molleigh Malona stood by: Amelia's hireling as well as the hotel's resident detective, a thousand-dollar bribed on top of her agency fee.

“No!” cried Amanda, and leapt to her feet, for struggle brief, as two Girl-Control officers knelt her down and bent her, still knelt, till her shoulders were on the floor, and Molleigh, strong and well practiced in the art of controlling girls who struggled, bent Amanda's lovely legs and boot-shod feet such that, swiftly and soon, Amanda could have her shoulders released, for she could not move, because she had had the ten-inch-long stiletto heels of her soft kid leather leg-hugging knee-boots, forced into her cunt, and they were holding her legs bent double, and tearing her sweet sensitive softness if she tried to struggle: her hands being behind her girlackled at wrists two, for good measure too.

Eyeing briefly her adept handiwork in stunning the stunning Amanda, with her hips broad and her waist so narrow, bent in agony on the floor with her high heels high hard up into her cunt, Molleigh Malona turned to the girl in the bed instead, calmly full-in-controllably: “You are obviously Mrs Amelia Jenkins-Ward. You are indeed as truly beautiful as Amelia…. I mean your husband…. said you were. Amelia is outside at the rear of the Hotel with a girl-cab. Aren't you the lucky one?” (And aside in her mind, entranced as she was by the girl in the bed, came the thought: “And, oh my god isn't she?”)

A nod from Molleigh and Veronica's angel's body was wrapped cave in a sheet she gave form female too even so, ever so, as she must ever, as, stunned still, she was led from the room to an elevator and her freedom, only momentarily to struggle and cry over her soft naked shoulder: “Oh god Amanda it wasn't me! Oh please god believe me it wasn't me!”

A silence ensued as Amanda just gasped with her pain from the invasion of her cunt by the two ten-inch heels of her boots, forced up her, to hold her from struggle as if she were trouble.

“Amanda Heavensent: I have here a warrant here for your arrest for fornication in wedlock!” Molleigh confirmed with more than a ‘I wish I was dead rather than do this' tone straining in her voice.

……………..

The prison vest, once white, was filthy. Amanda's only raiment for her arraignment was a garment too small for a girl stood as tall as Amanda in the dock.

There was one law for the rich and another for Amanda's kind: unkind and cruel fate.

The mistake she and Veronica had made was replaying on the wall. Whatever her husband, Serna, had indulged with Veronica's husband, Amelia, they had enjoyed it in the privacy of Amelia's home. Sweet Amanda and lovely Veronica, had assumed than an hotel foyer, its restaurant, and their sacred bedroom, were privy only unto themselves. How sad it was and completely condemnatory of post 2084 society, that that should not have been true.

On the wall still, was a still of Amanda's lovely face full of nerve-tingled joy and happiness, as she signed-in at the Manhattan Hotel Le Rosbif America, for ‘Mrs and Mrs Amanda Smith'. Thereafter, there were bedroom scenes, moving movies, deeply moving too in the emotional sense, of the scenes they showed of love's proud road being tiptoed by angels two, in which one girl's face and, curiously for some reason, as if they were particularly distinctive, her nipples, were opaqued-out with shimmering pixelations, though her stupendously beautiful hair, clearly of an incredible Titian deep dark copper gold abundance ample, told those in the know whom she was.

The 3D-telly-cubes had gone over the ground endlessly. The lovely woman who fronted-up ‘Girl Today' had got as close as she dared to hinting at the involvement of Amelia's lovely wife, till a writ for defamation had silenced her, and the court case broken her finally fully financially, seeing her being publicly flogged, and then sent, for just one week, so tough: so rough: enough: to the same prison as Amanda had suffered in awaiting trial.

……………….

Celcus was an absolute darling, and devilishly daringly sexy in her uniform: there being no uniformity about her gorgeous smile, which was as fresh minted as crisp dawn for everyone.

Eighteen, she would be just as stunning at eighty, for she had the highest of haughty cheekbones, in contradiction entirely with her sunny warmth and sincere soft gentleness. This girl could giggle for America, and win it a million Olympian gold medals. Six-foot-one in her bare feet, no measured mile could outdistance the length of her legs. She was slim, she was trim, she was fit, and she was proud of being a girl. And as proud were the twin protuberances that coned her chest with firm delights. Her movements out-willowed the proverbial, for this girl moved in a dance allegoric of allegro. Her hair was straight, and touched below her shoulder blades, blonde as the full harvest moon at wolf's howl. Her eyes were a bright incredible entirely natural red, out diamonding rubies for their honeychild sparkle. And she Sapphic with no girlfriend at home yet in whose love she could trust, as her girl must Celcus herself, with her mouth that was all moist-lipped softness and welcome, and which would always kiss first and ask questions later.

Celcus had nipples two-inches long, and they were pointing up to the heavens, appointing her uniform bib with cause for the breathtaking astonishment she stirred wherever she appeared. Serna, Celcus, and Veronica: this Celcus, the middle sister, had insisted she wanted to work for a living, though she had wealth and no need to seek employment instead of enjoyment. She was the drop-out who had found university boring and, in rare show of anything other than loving kindness, had lectured her lecturers on their stupidity, for her mind had long since outdistanced their predecessors, when she was half her now age.

…………

In her judge's chambers just now before, Elspeth Zanori had been with her new maid ‘Mary' - Imogene gypsy gazelle girl-woman, nerve of nerves of nirvana, shying creature of creation's creation, with the goddess of girl-perfection's seal of approval, as all-girl and nothing but girl, with hair so long so curled so indigo black, so magically magnificently ringletted and wrung in rings and rounds of soft sensual scent in descent from saintly head to brushed floor, curl-wave caressed, curtaining her as naturally in nature's dress, even when nature herself, Imogene, was undressed. Hair in cascading crescendo, complex curling whirling in descent, from apex to carpet, as to ascend the senses to Saturnalian sensation.

Free-spirit child, Imogene must at all times bound by hobble be as ‘Mary', else she would return run the wild to. Cruel was it, it was, to use her as maid, should when naked in the sun run woods in the be she. Complexion of complete on olive beauty dream was she, she was, of water splash as down peerless rolled pearls hair rung droplets run dropping drip helloed halo rainbow jewels refracted head shook after water she impacted slim slice-glide simply parted she as to shake the world slim shape swerve curves with of her she is was she transparent she heaven to transport she be so, all so, so all also very herself in of and through core to all girl and girl and girl and she and she and she and girl. Imagine image unimaginable majesty of she magical and she and girl and this Imogene be: if girl be girl, Imogene BC AD be she: girl: all girl.

“Mary: have you brought my spare panties to court?” Elspeth demanded of the captive gypsy wild-girl.

“Yes lady my”, courtesy curtseyed a dream's dream: Imogene dipping, all legs long and shear lovely beyond the loveliest lovely mere ‘lovely' could aspire to define.

This Elspeth was going to enjoy. Before entering court she would pull her panties up very high and verily very hard into her female crevice: into her lips and high too onto her hips. When leaving, sentence passed after, she would needs change, for the soaking sopped pair scented with her pre and pro orgasmic oils, were ruined for certain by her wriggling on the judgement seat, to surreptitiously and successfully stir, her potent pot to powerful secret cums, from the power that comes from power.

‘I am Elspeth Zanaori: the destroyer of girls', said the pose she possessed, as all court stood when she progressed her legal regal way, to the seat of magisterial majesty, some poor girl to redress and dress-down, undressed in the dock, and shock to a hell for a spell in prison or worse, perforce perverse.

With wealth and new-minted US citizenship came this duty, and Elspeth Zanori looked magisterially stern with concern, over her half-moon spectacles, that she vaguely recognised the tremendously attractive negress in the prisoners' dock. She looked familiar. Elspeth had had a maid, one of the many called ‘Mary'. They had all been ‘Mary' of course, as was Imogene now, even when they were not. What rot was spoken, that such girls had any right to their own individual name.

Eclectic, with an eye for the finest, Elspeth had always selected the tastiest of the mortal morsels that worked in her Le Rosbif Diners over in Britain, and her new now Hotel Le Rosbif hotel chain, here in New York.

There had been several negresses. All girls were beautiful, but the negress has beauty's beauty. This jewel was café-crème de la café-crème. If Elspeth could see her nipples, those two-inch diameter brown-pink areole that adorned ‘Mary', and could adorn the obviously stupendous chest filling full that dirty vest, then she would know for sure it was Mary. The lovely lips were Mary's. Perhaps, Elspeth thought, her honey already dripping, she should have broken with tradition and made that particular maid simply ‘Kiss' rather than another ‘Mary'…

Amanda's bare legs were tautly femininely finely muscular, as she stood to attention in the dock. The projector continued to play the scenes of her heaven-sent mouth, sending Veronica to heaven and beyond the furthest stars in heaven's own fevered firmament, far beyond the capture of but earthly rapture; and yet she was supposed to feel ashamed.

Ashamed she was not: in pain she was, for she had the two soles of her pretty little feet twisted, and turned so that her gorgeous legs had their stupendous calves almost back-to-back, with her toes individually clipped by rings each to its opposite on her feet, and her feet thus tortured, forced into a wooden V-wedge in the dock so that she stood to attention showing respect for the court, and pain in her lovely face, in equal measure, with the soles of her feet pressed together like hands praying for her soul. With no support before her, Amanda must hold her wonderful legs together if she were not to torture her feet even more unbearably.

The vest she wore, was uplifted physically and immeasurably spiritually, by her 40-inch double-D-cup bosom, and this was aided by the fact that her slender wrists were girlacled to the back of a leather band, that ringed her swan's neck, lifting her chest in praise of the word ‘beauty': ‘beauty' so inadequate as definition, unless Amanda was the exemplar.

Unwashed for weeks, she stank of her stale sweat urine and faeces. Her stance too, opened her sex for inspection, and its incurving lips were surrounded once more now, with the sweet curls of the dark brown hair pubic, of the negress girl.

“You are a slut and a slattern and your pattern of behaviour would shame a whore. You have risen from the gutter and prison, and because of the deception you practiced, became a girl-cab-motor, and later to mislead a poor innocent into marrying you, so that, no doubt, you could lead life in the luxury that your status in natural society would, quite rightly, have never allowed you.”

Elspeth Zanori was warming to her subject, and already anointing her chair, as she nearly panted for want of pronouncing the denouncing of the lovely girl before her. She seemed cool calm and acidic, but surreptitiously shifted on her high leather seat, to give her minx another thrill, because, as always before sentence, she had quietly adeptly lifted her robes so she could rub herself on the soft leather of the seat of judgement power.

“This country has, completely justifiably, become tired of the behaviour of girls like you. You are, or rather now thankfully, ‘were', a fortune hunter. Through the only merit you have, your obvious physical and facial charm, you made the marital bed. But instead of being thankful for the mercy thus shown by proper society, to a girl from the gutter, you, at the first opportunity, showed your utter contempt for your social superiors.”

“You should never have been allowed to take the marital vow, for it is meaningless to artful schemers of your class and caste. The error was made and the inevitable happened. Married to one lovely sister, you purposely, and, with rapine a forethought foremost in your filthy mind, set out to seduce her oldest sister, a girl of incredible natural beauty that you sought to defile and deflower.”

“Honoured with the band of gold on your right-hand wedding finger, a wife, a position of the highest trust sanctioned by and sanctified by promises, you betrayed a husband, her sister, and your sister-in-law, by sedulously seducing your sister-in-law's wife, your adorable wife's adorable sister.”

“Sex out of wedlock, fornication, is an offence that no decent society can tolerate. In my view the public whipping of girls who indulge such hideous cravings is a service both to those girls and to society, second only to caning in schools to cure the scourge of self-masturbation.”

“But your crime is more insidious grave and despicable still. You were a wife. We can only thank god that the past tense applies here. You were a wife. You had vowed to honour and obey: but no, that was not for you. You were still an animal, and must pursue your vile lust, betraying all trust.”

“When god made that wonderful body and that loveliest of faces, and, as I understand from the background notes before me, a supremely intelligent mind, she did not licence them for unlicensed licentiousness. Those wonderful lips were made only for the chaste kisses of courtship and the controlled passion of the marital bed.”

“Instead you pursued seduction, and indulged the heinous crime of fornication within marriage.”

“Taking your victim to a respectable hotel, you ensnared her for the bedroom and there took her by force to spite your husband and your sister-in-law, for no known motive than that to be expected, since it is endemic in girls of your class. Pure evil!”

“The heartfelt gratitude of this court must go on record to the Molleigh Malona Defectives Detectives Agency Inc, for their skill and persistence in tracking you down, and providing sufficient evidence from their electronic installations, to remove the horrible necessity of calling witnesses to the stand.”

“Despite all your vile defects, you, my lovely lady, must now pay thanks to your ex husband who, despite the entirely justified and understandable objections of your sister-in-law, has entered a plea of mercy. That saintly girl is a husband that should have been treasured.”

“Unfortunately, the law allows such pleas, and I have to take them into account. I can therefore only pass the lower sentence for inter-marital fornication.”

“Accordingly, it is the sentence of this court, that you, Amanda X, spend the next three years in prison, without remission reduction right of appeal or of further referral, as a slave of the state.”

“Take the prisoner down to the cells”.

Her multiple cums echoed still as Elspeth, not showing her joy at her enjoyment of sentence passed so recently past, so practiced was she at hiding what only she and ‘Mary' – Imogene – knew she indulged, moved to rise from her seat, ensuring her judge's robes, covered her cum-aid crutch clutching crack creased high within, silk, girl-milt soaked, panties, sopping wet.

“All rise” called the court clerk, and all rose, save Amanda already upright risen and silently sobbing for prison and her life's next year's three complete and utter robbing.

……………..

Celcus' legs were bare this morning. She wanted to top-up her delicious tan, and the Postal Service allowed the ideal opportunity by not necessarily requiring stockings be worn by the postgirls in summer.

The six-foot-one-inch tall girl was slimly supremely sexy in her uniform. ‘Saucy' should have been her sobriquet. Jaunty and sexy was the angle she always wore her red-banded, 50-white-star-spangled-on-blue-cloth, flat-topped, stiff-white-peaked, uniform cap. Her height, a model's, made it look as if she were catwalking a creation, so dangling was the angling, and the choice to have the peak so that one lovely shine-smiling eye peeked past it, with her ever-loving ever-sunny face, feminine fortune to be greeted by at dawning. Her long blonde shoulder-blade bottoming hair wedging it safe, saved her cap from a tumble, and made the humble headpiece look adorable: adorable as Celcus herself indeed, and Celcus gave ‘adorable' dictionary dignity from demeaning, for her demeanour gave the mere word its true meaning.

Wool was cheap and the US Post was pro fiscal economy. And so the material was minimal and so the white skirt, a frequent interval, integral wool-ball-bobble weighted, pleated Ra-Ra, was miniscule, combining within, within-itself, a woollen thong: briefs whose mischief in brief, was to be hard up on the curly-blonde-down-blessed lips, and thus hot on the trot, if the woollen belt that held the miniscule skirt up, was to be tied at such a height as not to leave a full-sized girl such as Celcus, completely cheeky at her wow-worthy rear. The belt for the skirt ended in bobble-tassels that regulations required dangle by the side, and which thus bounced and tickled left thighed.

The midriff was bare, and a sunny honey like Celcus, gave a belly-dancer no quarter for not wiggling like she oughta, as her hips flicked with her wild-wiggle-walk, a cockless peacock's tail shake to seduce a mate, to make earthquake, mercy's sake! come-hither cum teaser treasure in her wake, not taught but natural as sun and rain, and confirming girl's rein on sweet mother earth, wiggling for all life is worth, for science has proven fact sound, that girls' wiggles make the sun the moon and the world go around.

A woollen cuirass-front bib, polo at neck, tied at bottom-of-ribs height, with ribbon on bare smooth femininely finely arched back, bore the delightful burden, no burden, of bulging with Celcus' firm breasts, high on the tall willow-wand of a woman-girl, and taken to the heights of ecstasy by the stiffness of her two-inch-long nipples, appointing high steeples in the stretched material.

This was uniform but hot, and chafed delightfully, deliciously building up static in the nipples that made them extend world without end, ecstatic, without bend, to send the willow-wand appointed by the heaven in which she was anointed, to point back to from whence she came. The woollen cuirass bib of the uniform, was pleasurably uncomfortable in this regard, but, curiously, of the bib, none of the postgirls had ever complained.

The bib was scarlet and bore on bosom top, the for contrast white writ script: “US Post”.

Celcus still smiled and giggled and put pretty fingers on saintly lips, lips to sip a longing, when she recalled her first week as a trainee novice, and how long it had been before she noticed, in her uniform locker, that in honour of her incredible nipples, for her second day, the other postgirls had sneakily cheekily added an extra ‘S' to the ‘Post' in the title on her chest.

No girl in the post room had failed to fall head-over-heels in love with this delight's delight, when, on her discovery of the tease, her appealing giggles and sexy tears-of-girl-laughter peeled, and made their mere office a place of worship, with its token totem, this titanically feminine wistfully willowy tall, totally-girl girl.

Celcus' eternally extreme supreme dream long legs, were bare out of choice, foregoing the blue woollen elasticated-top stockings that were her only winter warmth, for that this was summer, summery, in summary. But her long legs were longer elevated to the highest heights of high heaven, in the hard wearing reinforced-steel-toecapped standard-issue, blue US Post Service heelless tiptoe en-pointe booties, that finished the uniform Celcus' furnished with such honour and beauty, to the red-white-and-blue patriotic duty, of delivering the daily post.

Despite 2084 and beyond, being a time when electronic and beyond supersonic were many communications, paper was still used, and parcels more so, and delivery door to door, needed the postgirls, who made six deliveries every day of the seven days that even still then measured the passing of a week.

Amanda stood patiently. She had no choice but so to do. She twiddled eight of her ten toes, the only free ones. Her legs looked what they were: magnificent. She was on tiptoe and extremely painfully so. She was on the tip-top of her bare big toes, but that her big toes were not bare.

Her big toes were shod. Her big toes were tightly gripped in holders, like unto candle-holders, and of rough iron, with side screws to tighten the iron of the holders around the toes, till the grip was significant, and the holders thus held in place, and held in place the individual plates to which the holders were mounted: curved plates: shaped plates. Amanda's big toes pointed down centrally to them, from centre above those shaped plates: horseshoe-shaped plates, one for each foot, iron horseshoes, for Amanda wore horseshoes, screw-mounted to her thus tortured big toes, and was horseshoe shod because she was a horse: a pony: a human pony: a ponygirl: a no lack pony: a pack-pony.

Daily for her all-day duty bound was beauty bound: Amanda tacked out.

At ankles, stretched slim-waifed seductions from her leggy-legs steepling on her hooves, Amanda must wear security, lest she escape, and so ankles around surrounded tight and padlocked were, with girl-cuff-anklets, strong in shiny-shining-white-patent-leather, and a chain between, to hobble this queen of queens, by two-inches chain play, her walk the more to wiggle and sway, and save the public, her escape prevented, by the humble strong two-inch hobble to no fear their day.

Bent like an inverted ‘L' as in hell to spell, Amanda's arms were crushed together at her back in a single shiny-shining-white-patent-leather glove, the multiple-lacing-up straps of which, had been unmercifully tightened so her elbows touched.

And from her pulled up wrists, hands together in prayer for alms she would never receive, ran too, two shiny-shining-white-patent-leather straps, as tight as bowstrings, to the rings that sided the bit-gag in her mouth, so that her head was pulled up with her arms too, too painfully hard both two too, making her lovely brown eyes, wildly wide-open, look obediently front, summaries of emotion.

Amanda's arms were thus pulled hard up at shoulder and she could lower them for relief, only at the mischief of pulling her bit harder back into her gorgeous mouth, or lower her hard-back-bent neck, only by pulling up her arms in strappado. To see, and not be locked looking up at the stars, she must therefore in ‘L' hell bend, her gorgeous eyes to the horizon to lend.

To ensure she held her head up, she also had a white-leather neck-brace, tubular and curving, higher under chin than at nape hairline, around her swan's grace. And to ensure she looked front more furthermore, her eyes gorgeous decidedly, were sided, both sides, with letter ‘D' shaped blinders or blinkers, in a continuation of her bit-harness, still shiny-shining-white-patent-leather on her lovely brown skin, making up her bridle in total, that also included a white leather band across her forehead, bearing in red lettering her beauty's duty calling: ‘US Post'.

Her waist wore a saddle that bore resemblance to a shiny white strap, pulled so tight that it nine-inched her twenty-two natural, and went round her thus wisp-wasped waist, twice.

Her wonderful double-D-cup-40-inch breasts, long lactation not lacking still even now, hung down, bells from heaven, and swung free, but that her simply superb nipples were pinched and punished by toothed and sprung dog-clips. to hold needles inserted: needles hollowed to allow the passage of her hallowed milk to her mouth, through the two pipes that ran up to her mouth-bit: to give her range and sustainability, through self-sufficiency in the only sustenance she would have access to, to feed her during a twenty-hour out of twenty-four day, week long, weakness not allowed, seven-day week, of work in bondage.

Her nose was savagely cruelly ringed through the septum like a prize bull, and belled with a cowbell dangling on chain below her chin, so she rang wrong and strong to a ‘dang-dong', ‘dang-dong', for New York State and City Safety Law, decreed that a pony such as she should have forewarning of her coming, so that mothers could hide their daughters from the sight of her suffering, for this was Amanda's punishment for seducing Veronica, or so she had been accused and convicted: the punishment for inter-marital fornication.

Celcus was never too sure whether to talk to the pony. She was a gorgeous negress. Celcus knew that this was Amanda. Celcus had never met her hitherto, because Amanda was too low of caste for Celcus' social circle. She had not met her till now, when Amanda was once more cast down where society would have her. No wonder Veronica had fallen for her, she was an astonishing beauty. But that was two-years in the past now.

Celcus knew her pony's past. She had not mentioned her specific pony to Veronica. After all, the pack-ponies were strictly nameless and, anyway, her lovely sister had enough troubles, what with her marriage. Her husband-girl demanded all manner of obscenities of her, and she was rarely without bruises or a blackened eye. Wife-beating was an awful crime in Celcus' book; though perfectly legal in fact.

Celcus told herself she would never marry. She could not stand her sister's husband, Amelia, and had told Amelia so to her face. This she now regretted, but only because she had not been allowed to see her sisters in consequence, Veronica nor Serna either, for this last year and more, such was the spitefulness of Amelia: and now she could only sneak phone calls to them.

Celcus was gentleness girlsonified. Even if lovely Celcus spoke to her pack-pony, and she always did so sweetly and kindly, poor Amanda had no answer she could make, for the steel penis-bit in her mouth was no fake, and pulled back in her mouth extremely hard, straps round back of her head to hold it, as well as the violent violin-string-taut straps from her wrists, so that the hollowed steel tube penis at the rear of the bit between her teeth, was two-feet down her throat like a sword-swallower's sword.

Attaching a lead-chain to Amanda's nose-ring, Celcus, at crack of dawn for the first post cannot be post and therefore late, led Amanda in agony to the post sorters' gate.

In a row stood the fifty vans, carts called ‘barrows', with two wheels at sides and one at rear, and a single, six-foot-long three-inch-diameter round ended shaft forward, temporarily resting on an unremarkable removable ‘Y' prop. The vans' shafts, one each van, cold shining stainless steel, were articulated to move up down or sideways as needed at the connection with the cart.

The cart itself, was the size of a mini-dumpster-skip, with two main wheels at sides, of farm-cart formulation, four-feet in diameter, wooden spoke multiple bespoke bespoked, with a tough rubber-rim forming the solid cartwheel tyre for the sidewalks where the postgirls must catwalk pussyfooting their pretty pussies, the far-distant distaff of male, to post the mail.

The counterbalance wheel at its rear hovered above ground, no more than one-foot round, but ready if the cart lifted from bump in the road or shift in the load, to come to the rescue, and touch ground, to enable the cart to continue.

‘Mail-barrow' was their official name: ‘country-carts' their slang reputation, if not necessarily pronounced quite the same.

These covered wagons, which angelic postgirls, legally uniformed leggy sweeties, even now loaded busily with ordered parcels and packages for the townspeople. Fifty wagons in the red-and-blue-with-white-stars-spangle of the US Post, in shining gold lettering on both sides of the curved-canvas-top-against-rain. Covered carts, blazoning brazen the emblem of a girl kneeling, naked, with a pretty hand before her chin, blowing a message kiss, and the name for the service they provided: ‘US Post Service (Sponsored by Girls-Fargo)'.

“We have a new round today pony”, Celcus sweetly soothed, as she loaded Amanda's back with the saddle bags, bags at the end off a long strap slipped under Amanda's uplifted gloved arms, and rested over the squeezed down middle, of the wasp that was Amanda's waist that was: these bags holding the letters sorted by street and apartment.

Celcus then, casually backed Amanda up, so that the three-inch-diameter, cold cold-steel, dome-headed, round profile, six-foot long shaft, of the two-cartwheeled post wagon, now full of packets parcels and packages, touched tingly-singly-chillingly, on Amanda's supremely sensitive rear lips, unparted united, as Amanda was forced to stay so bent over as to present them thus.

“Hold pretty pony” Celcus sang all-but with her loving tongue, as she backed Amanda to stand bent before the ‘Y' supported six-foot-long cold steel shaft, the stainless steel shining shaft resting in the crook crutch of the ‘Y'.

The chain hung from a hook on the ‘Y'. Why this chain? This chain was the crupper.

For Celcus' femininely pretty feminine hands, the clip on the crupper-chain's under-belly end, always needed both lovely thumbs to undo and hold undone as, with her long long legs lusciously lovely knelt folded, she under Amanda squatted and searched, till, to the strong ring in Amanda's extremely supremely tight wasp-waisting-belt, the steel ring hanging down from its bottom rear, she clipped the chain to dangle, and then the pretty angel rose to rub her thumbs as she did daily for the strength this had needed.

As matter-of-factly, as it was indeed the routine scene seen of morn and dawn for all the US Post's pack-ponies, did Celcus the postgirl now gently encourage Amanda to back-wiggle. And Amanda must reverse: ‘clop' ‘clip'; ‘clop' ‘clip'; ‘clop' ‘clip'; obedient without stop, as her lady's labia lovely parted, as the shaft pole started to enter her splendour profound, helplessly bound and bound to reverse, for torture perverse, to punish her for loving a girl above her station, a slave to deprave by pony formulation, at the hands of the nation.

Bound to take the cart's shaft deep into her intimacy, Amanda would howl in pain were she able enabled, but her bit-penis gag prevented, as the pole slowly entered, inch by inch, flaring her succulent inner-pink flower formation, to slide along the cart-shaft, unlubricated and ripping, tearing her in torment, as tears teetered on heavens eye-rims lowered, as Amanda's face wonderful her torture torment total showed.

Slid six-inches into Amanda's cunt, and soon to be strapped in place there by the chain, the crupper, the chain to be run from the waspie around her belly at front, to the same waspie-strap at her back, both front and back of the waist-belt being provided with the strong rings needed to hold the crupper-chain to pull the cart-shaft in, into its designated resting place: Amanda was paused: her bell ‘dang-donging' recording her insane, as her head waved in the agony of her pain, her cunt rape-filled-full with the searing steel dildo, six-inch cold dull, ripping her sweet sensitivity with insensitive insensate proclivity.

This was pure norm of dawn and day begun, as new day greeted the morning sun. Celcus pretty, soft, sensitive and gentle, would never pain inflict elemental, were not this the way, quite normal, to start her everyday day, today yesterday or tomorrow.

Seeing a loved friend arriving at the post and parcel sorting office, gentle Celcus stopped the backing with the three-inches-wide shaft six-inches into Amanda's cavity, even as Amanda in pain was still mentally writhing.

Natalie, Elspeth Zanori's gorgeously pretty little nymphet daughter, had grown, and how she had grown: she was significantly magnificent, working her college gap-year for the US Post ‘(sponsored by Girls-Fargo)', and giving more glory to the cheap woollen red-white-and-blue uniform she filled as prettily as Celcus; but in a more compact and thus more roundly curvy swervy way.

“Hi Natalie. Wow do you look sexy!” Celcus called-out in a giggling tease, knowing that Natalie hated the uniform from which her lovely body gorgeously generously spilled.

Then she saw Natalie's pretty legs stomp a little, as she wiggled to a halt and turned, and the angelic sweetie fisting her dainty little hands on her waistline in fury, and pouting and stomping her lovely leggy-legs, en-pointe shoe shod, titties pronouncedly abundantly bouncing, as in temper pretend Natalie was astoundingly announcing annoyance, in toy temper's distemper, about to turn in tantrum and wiggle her lovely bum in anger, away from the friend who had called her to tease her, because her astonishing young beauty pleased her.

Sorry, unsure, but teased to be deceived, Celcus now called: “I didn't mean it like that honey!” in instant short-distance gentle sweet and wholly holy sincere apology.

And now, both recovered discovered, a duet of girls giggled divinely, as Natalie's acting ‘humph' had drawn from Celcus the response aimed for by the return joke, Natalie knowing, but not at first showing, she knew all along that she was only being teased.

From the distance they stood apart, Natalie could now but only blow a lovely kiss from the palm of the prettiest of hands, a greeting to the gorgeous Celcus, as she, Natalie, naturally late for work as ever, swung her lovely rear and wiggled her bountiful firm bum, into the sorting office, and Celcus giggled gorgeously supreme, a girl in a dream: a dream girl's dream.

For Amanda, paused in pain, her cunt filled six-inches by the unyielding shaft, so cold and brutal, there was still some way to go, for the shaft was not so frugal.

And so soft Celcus, still shaking her head as she giggled at sexy Natalie's triumphant tease, eased Amanda back onto the shaft, keeping an eye for the hole that would tell her when Amanda's cunt had swallowed the whole of the pole destined to follow the six-inches it already surrounded in surrender.

Amanda ‘clop'; ‘clip'; ‘clop'; ‘clip'; ‘clop'; ‘clip'; ‘clop'; ‘clipped' obediently back onto the shaft sliding inexorably in, into the centre of her joy and sin, till cold brutal steel stole one-whole one-and-a-half-feet deep into her cunt, her cunt forced to play host to such savagery as a cart shaft to which it must lend play and articulation and slide, as she pulled the cart all day behind her backside.

Bending her lissom length, and reaching with arms golden downed dream slim, Celcus reached with love's lovely hands to grasp the dangling crupper chain, bring it up through the hole made for that purpose through the cart's shaft, to fasten it to the pack-pony, Amanda, just behind the one-and-a-half-feet of its three-inch fatness, vastly inside Amanda's vagina, took the chain through the hole, pulled the crupper tight, as Amanda gasped from the eighteen-inches of cold steel shaft now buried deep within her, and clipped it, two-pretty-hands' strength needed again, to the answering hoop at Amanda's nine-inch waistline-squeezing wasping-belt.

Clipping the crupper on the back of the bent-over Amanda, Celcus paused again as Natalie's innocent of wanton, wanton wiggle approached, to greet her pretty friend, final late parcels carrying.

With lips to lips passion natural to both, they suddenly kissed, Celcus and Natalie, as they were for brides to be bided and bedded, once fate's calendar decided, though neither girl knew it yet.

For the moment of one girl's total agony, two girls had the world stand in standstill, as mouths made for kisses without cease, did not employ kisses, but kissed just the once, long, not prolonged but profoundly moving, as tall slim shapely, adored small slim curvy, and mouths not parted, imparted the kiss they were made for, as two girls flawlessly adorable, adorned the morn mist with a kiss never to be missed, and the mystery of love throughout history, asked if it had ever known such ambassadoresses as these, as kiss crescendoed, and gasping girls knew love was entered not ended, but sought to deny their passions' high, and pretend they were not gasping for more sweet lips clasping: for two girls had kissed in the morning mist, and the whirled had stood still.

The wave that Natalie now gave Celcus as she, Natalie, must return to her duty, told how the sweetmeat was date-mate for the asking, even as Celcus, another heart's token taken, never ever by her sweetness to be broken, sighed and turned to the bondage-bound Amanda, their day to start over.

“Well honey, we had better start our day” the ever-smiling Celcus intoned to the tortured Amanda, as she did daily, and led the pack-pony pulling the heavy cart by her cunt in a ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' short leggy steppy ankle hobbled wiggle wobble bummy shake earthquake wake, out of the gate, and onto the sidewalk where Amanda's wiggle would wank her on the shafts constancy, constantly and without mercy.

As they headed for the new guarded enclave keeping the social superiors of society from the crimes of the wild girls now rebelling in New York, fermenting wished for revolution, and stretching the resources of Girl-Control with a crime wave, Central Park peaceful seeming not steaming, was full of bitches being walked by their maids.

‘Clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop', mere walk for Amanda was perforce a trot, as the hobble encumbered and she walk could not. Her bottom thus wiggled more as steps she took galore, four steps for one stride were her legs not deprived of the steps she could take and the progress she could make, were she not in a hobble, to make her sex grate on the rod up her cunt, the pole in her cunt, to plunge her and poke her as they strolled her by the ring in her nose ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop', bound, to compose a girl in surrender, as the pole must send her, to hell, with the mail-barrow playing its part, in a torture with more to it, than simple intuit would spit was the case, as the poor girl suffered disgrace in wonderful gentle grace.

Amanda patiently trotted behind the wiggling rear of her lovely mistress' of the long long long legs, Celcus, and hardly noticed the three particular bitches, with their Pluto tails swishing, being walked by a maid, a rescued prostitute and sheepgirl, called ‘Eve', in fact Rosetta of the russet curls, a girl among girls, pale and beautiful under her parasol, walking the bitches on their three separate leashes, wiggling in her three-inch ankle hobble, their eyes shining with the joy of being exercised: two black, two emerald-green, and two in the most incredible shining cornflower-blue: those eyes, as Zudina Palermo, Siabon Redhead, and Michaela Redhead, crawl-swung by, oblivious of the patient plodding pony Amanda's ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' hauling the morning post-cart past them, led by a chain in the ring in her nose by a wonderful willow woman-girl of incredible charm.

Amanda was being fucked by the shaft that filled one-and-a-half-feet-long into her cunt, and in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, of her, stretching the strain of the crupper-chain with the cart in train behind her, as she wiggled on her big toes, screwed by her big toes to the iron hooves, in which she could hardly trot, for her two-inch hobble forcing her not her legs to far part, as she played her part being screwed by the pole up her hole ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop', in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, shafting, shagging, stuffing, fucking, screwing, pounding, poking, poling, holy wholly holing her, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop', in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop', bound in pain and helpless, Amanda wiggled, her bum's eternal mystery of girl message, shagging herself, dribbling her cunt honey, and her sweat, and her spittle, and shagged being by the six-foot cold-steel cunt stealing cart-shaft up her cunt, relentlessly endlessly and endlessly relentlessly, in the rising of the morning sun.

Oh those legs before her! Oh this girl Celcus! How could one not adore her? Towed by her nose-ring bent with her arms up, her poor head nodding, in nodding donkey mock, forced by her arms clamped in single glove strap-tied, and her wrists so tightly to her mouth bit rings strung by straps tight unmerciful: Amanda's arms rocked up and down like an oil-derrick, and her uplifted head went back and forth in rhythmic beat, this girl so sweet suffered so.

Amanda's only comfort was to eye Celcus' young beauty, free from the savage restraints she endured to be cured by the state of complaint that she had shirked her duty as wife, by seeking a life with love not arid as that into which she had married.

By closing her wonderful negress' lips on the bit across her mouth, Amanda could suck on the tube, a single tube merged from the division into two running up from her nipples, and feed and drink on her own warm loving lovely milk, her only other comfort on a day in which she must comport to haul this trailer around non-stop, save for loading, with no care if she dropped. And drop before now had she with cruel postgirl, who had just whipped her till she scrambled to her feet again and obediently wiggled on once more as ordered.

‘Clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop', in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, the shagging was endless: no pity for the poor girl her cunt pumped and penetrated, and the whip used to drive her if she became enervated.

‘Clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop', in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, the road was endless, as endless as Amanda's shaft-shagging was relentless and merciless.

A hill she must now climb putting her legs under duress, her legs, made to move her and move hearts, were in no distress, for she was lithe and fit, and her legs supremely shapely, could wiggle along in the hobble to make the incline so steep, though making her sweat so another mistress would have whipped her, her duty not to forget, to urge her to effort that hill for to climb with legs so sublime, or take stripes from the whip to make the trip.

‘Clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop', in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, the park enclave entrance, oh god save her some rest, from the endless shaft shagging and its constant distress.

“Let me look at your face please” came a sweet girl over the security gate intercom.

“US Post, sponsored by Girls Fargo”, Celcus smiled with just her normal face, advertising her wares as she had been trained, an empress of beauty in the world girls' now reigned.

“I recognise you. Celcus Hayden-Standish. Welcome honey”

An electronic buzz and the barred gate of steel opened, so Amanda and her heavy mail-barrow could be led through, till the gate swung and clanged locked shut behind her beautiful behind.

The bumpy cobblestones of the long drive to the superb apartments occupied by Cecile Mondelicuer-Meed-Arbinthrope, in the new walled and wired residential security enclave, was hard on Amanda, putting no strain on her magnificent legs, but juddering and vibrating the shaft up her cunt, and swinging her breasts, as the cow-bell on her nose-ring hung on hook dangling ‘dang-donged' clanged to wake the dead, and her iron hoofs sparked as they clip, clopped and slid on the dew wetted stones, as the wheels of the mail-barrow lurched and lumbered, twisting the full one-and-a-half-feet of the cart-shaft in Amanda's cunt to add to her torture.

‘Clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, Amanda was led by the chain in her nose-ring in further progress. ‘Clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, went the shaft relentless, to pole her and shag her and fuck her time endless.

A pause, as sweet Celcus hung Amanda's lead chain around the hitching rail the byelaws required all new homes provided for ponies, as she searched in the van at Amanda's rear and some parcels inside it.

Celcus wiggled to the door, rang the bell and smiled: no rehearsal, for this was how she looked all the while. “US Post sponsored by Girls Fargo” she called into the security intercom but no answer came at all.

Cecile was not at home. Amanda watched the incredible long legs of the sublime Celcus, as the smiling honey, picked out post and packages, and wiggled a sway to make any watching girl's day, to the post boxes in the hallway, to return and smile at Amanda as the only salve for the pack-pony slave's pain, as she led Amanda over the rugged rough granite cobbles of the enclave sidewalks again.

‘Clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, pulling the heavy mail-barrow with her cunt. ‘Clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, Amanda pulled her post-barrow through the streets broad and narrow all long legs and strong legs so lithe so lithe oh.

The cold shaft of the mail-barrow went in and out and in and out and in and out of Amanda's cunt as she wiggled along, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in obedience trained, constrained to pull a cart in carriage for desecrating marriage, bound in restraints for complaints against her conduct, wronged-up and holed-up in a prison of hell, to serve a slave to the state, working as an animal, being purposely submitted to public masturbation, as the passing girls saw her drag her mail-barrow and giggled at the sight of the shaft disappearing deep into the site of her mystery, her purse, her pussy, her cunt: her cunt being fucked by an eighteen-inch rod, knowing nothing of sensitivity or technique or gentleness or kindness or consideration, as it rammed her, and raped her, as she ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clopped' long leggily, legally forced to suffer three whole years of having her hole wholly prodded and rodded by the relentless pole pushed up her, and held in her, from dawn to beyond dusk, prodding her thus, rodding her, plumbing her depths to the deepest, constantly relentlessly poking and stoking her holy hole, on the streets she must stroll, doing as told, ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out. There was no subtlety in the use of Amanda's supple slot, her slit was being rodded and poled as her bottom rocked and rolled, as she wiggled her wonder way on legs divine all the way down to toes crushed on tiptoe in hooves to erect her aloft, fine calved calf muscles stretched and taut, thighs thunder strong magnificently shapely and ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clopping' her in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, along. And the shaft would have its say and the shaft would have its day, for Amanda was only a girl, a girl being given such ministration, submitting to the will of the nation, her cunt must be shafted and shagged if that be her sentence to teach her repentance. And there was solace in Celcus so lovely and sweet her legs long and replete, each a repeat of the curvy path to the heaven of the haven between them beyond long calves and longing thighs to a rear that swayed away each way, every which way, all day, so near to Amanda's tortured brown eyes, as Celcus' Ra-Ra flicked and bounced at her natural busy flounce, as she bounded on tiptoe, door to door, her smile of greeting by one and all adored, her breasts with those nipples steepling, from the sides of her bib peeping, as the passing girls looked her loveliness straight in the nipples, as she giggled and smiled knowing those were not her eyes, but that their size would always bring sighs for want of their prize, till Amanda could bare no more and the rod's prod would drive her to a new station of salvation, as her cunt's salivation would slide the shaft fore and aft, fore and aft, fore and aft, fore and aft more swiftly for its lubrication, and she would become confirmatorily girl, as her world would swirl, and Celcus' lovely legs, long lithe, long so long so lovely so shapely so strong so stretched so tall so smooth so sleek so leggy as she wiggled at top and bottom, with her imperious bottom, her nipples dancing, her breasts entrancing, her face aglow with glow of love and smiles, and her mouth, oh god her mouth, her mouth so moist and so wanting of a kiss, a kiss on the smile that glowed from her eyes, that sparkled her eyes, that smile that love that girl who now whirled around swinging her hips smiling with her lips swinging her legs as she walked before Amanda, as Amanda ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clopped with the shaft's in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, outing her along, a slave suffering for a crime she was an innocent of, looking at heaven in the shape of a girl, those legs those legs those long, long, long, long, long, long, long long long oh god those legs……… Amanda came with a world-ending power that screamed her to whinny and upward buck, as she wiggled and was fucked and the shaft rodded and prodded as she plodded still pulling the truck ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clopping' rodding and poling and rocking and rolling her, fucking her hard, in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, and Celcus' lovely legs, those legs those legs this girl this angel this heaven on poor earth, more than earth's worth, those legs those long long long legs, as Amanda came, those legs, again! those legs, and again!! those legs, and again!!! those lovely, lovely, those those those those long, long, long, long, long, long, oh god those wonderful long legs!!!!!

Amanda whinnied through her bit-gag again and again, as she came again and again and again.

The rising sun shone behind, silhouetting and haloing Celcus', despite its far star inferior inadequacy. As a true source of life and warmth and fire and love a mere token, compared with the girl so made bespoken.

Disobediently stood still now, Amanda's head nodded as her behind-back single tight arm-gloved arms rocked up and down, the leather bands tying her wrists to her steel mouth bit so tautly, thus pulling on her head and thus also driving the steel penis gag pushed two-feet into her, in and out of her gagging throat. Her legs, her wonderful, beautiful, divinely shapely legs, stretched on en pointe feet beyond straight down, with her big toes tortured in the vicious vice grip of the ‘candle-holders' holding the savagely mocking cruelly degrading debasing and dehumanising pony-hooves on her feet, feet bleeding from her ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clop' two-inch ankle-chain hobbled wiggle-walking. And she shifted unsettled ‘clop' ‘clip' ‘clip' ‘clop' ‘clop' ‘clop' ‘clip' with her shuffling hooves even now, seemingly to work her honey-dribbling slit on the one-and-a-half feet of three-inch-diameter cold cruel cold-steel cart-shaft rod driven into her sweetest softest most succulent part, the very heart of her girlness, and held so hard up her by the crupper chain between her legs, clasped to her waistband, squeezing her wonderful natural twenty-two inch shapeliness into a nine-inches figure-eight-middle, to increase her incredible wiggle. Amanda, Amanda, oh god Amanda, that lovely mouth, the loveliest of all mouths, the lovely mouth of a negress girl, sucked on the tube leading up from the two tubes and the two needles deep in her nipples, to suck on her own milk, as her eyes, Amanda, Amanda, oh god Amanda, those dark brown deep-devil-down-dark-brown eyes looked up at Celcus in needing, not of pleading, but Amanda, Amanda, oh god Amanda, of: ‘whip me!', ‘whip me!!', ‘whip me!!!', ‘whip me!!!!', ‘whip me!!!!!', pleas wanton needing. Amanda, Amanda, oh god Amanda: Amanda: girl elemental: girl fundamental: just girl: just girl: girl…

A deliciously delicately-golden forearm's soft down, glister glistened in the sparkling morning sunlight, as another girl of all girls world without end, reached out in loving love's softest sweetest tenderness to her negress sister and twin of all that is wonderful:

“Are you alright my angel?” whispered, soft sweet concerned smiling beauty, as Celcus' long leggy lovely leggy love knew more than mere duty, and touched Amanda's face and heart with a tiny pretty hand so sweet and gentle, as Amanda came again, and again, and again, and again, at the sight at the sight of Celcus' lovely smooth, lovely long, lovely shapely, lovely curvy, lovely long, lovely long, lovely long, so long, so long long long long legs: Amanda: girl elemental: girl fundamental: just girl: just girl: girl…….

The End