Dead Dames Don’t Lick

Dead Dames Don’t Lick

- a short story -

by Eve Adorer

 

I saw the silhouette. I heard the tap. It was light. It was polite. The glass in the door was in no danger of breaking.

 

I’d had it with this job. My partner had just copped a forty-five between the pink-capped mountains. Loathe funerals, even though I do look great in black. ‘Die young and make a great corpse’ they say. Sam’d done her best. She’d looked a whole lot better not box-wrapped though.

 

Me and Sam: ‘Samantha’ for Sunday best: we’d been close: very close. Either you get my drift else read between the lines why dontcha. ‘Life’s a bitch and then you die’. For me there’d never be another bitch like Sam, and it wasn’t right for her to die like that.

 

It had been yet another bank rob with a hostage take this time.

 

Sam’d been called to parlez with the hostage-taker, a close pal history. She was collateral in the fire cover. A cop’s slug got her. Sam hadn’t arrived body armour yet. She was just coming scene. She’d rounded corner, when a rookie cop let one go, outta nerves and outta order. Fuck knows what’s happened to training since Sam’s and my day….

 

‘Another day another dollar’. It’d been ninety of them since Sam: dolour but no dollar. Kissing the bottle ain’t a good idea, but what’d wiped Sam had slammed me hard. I could stow the bottle. I had to. I needed the dollar. The bottle don’t pay no rent.

 

It was hard, but I needed Sam’s name off the door. The landlord wouldn’t halve the rent, but I’d promised Sam’s wife. There oughtta be some dame that did a scratching service.

 

I riffled Silver Pages finding everything ‘ceptin what I wanted. Concentration ain’t easy neither, when your head’s a bear with the fur on the inside. I’d take more water with my bourbon next time.

 

I saw the silhouette. I heard the tap. It was light. It was polite. The glass in the door was in no danger of breaking.

 

The door opened and the sweet scent that wafted in spelt ‘trouble’ with a capital ‘T’ for ‘dame’.

 

Whatever this chick ate for breakfast though, I was gonna order a store-load.

 

Her tits entered half-an-hour before her. If the navy had lost two torpedoes, I knew where they’d find them. Did they have percussion tips or was she just pleased to see me?

 

You coulda timed a soft egg with her figure.

 

I like a chick hiding nothing in the middle. The midwife had done great shakes with her bellybutton.

 

She’d have been lying if she’d said she was twenty. I’d have put her at twenty-two; but then she might have been talking age first, before middle for diddle.

 

The bottom end almost matched the top, save that it rocked side-to-side like it had got meetings opposite places same time.

 

She’d danced ballet. No chick walked like that lessen she’d learned pirouette deep down and some, if you get my points. Her legs were dance trained, or my name isn’t ‘Topam-Smyth’ when I go for disguise.

 

She was in heelless ballet booties up big-toes tiptoe: on her big toes tiptop full time. It was the new fashion. I’m old fashioned. I like new fashions. I like a girl with legs, and this chick had two of them: two great ones.

 

I shape a good leg myself, even if it’s me that says so. But I go for pirouette booties with front heels. I like the chicks walking tiptop big toe like this chick was. A girl’s legs should always be on a high. I obey my own rules too, but I gotta have the front heel on a shoe, for purchase in a shootout.

 

If she’d paid full-price for that skirt she’d been sold short.

 

Lower down though, things were looking up. I was looking up. I like bright red fishnets on curvy legs. I could see she was in a hold-up too. Suspenders freak me out. I wanted to know if she was wearing panties, but it was more polite to study the sundial of this fragrant flowerbed, than look for the honey hive.

 

The eyes were misty-green. She needed specs. Maybe she was too vain to wear them. They’d been on her nose not so long back though. There was a mark on her bridge. Pretty little snorkel too.

 

Below it, the lips were generous. They were for real as was the unharvested corn that stray-stranded across her kisser. ‘Beach Babe’ flashed through my mind. I somehowed that the sun had bleached her triangle to match her mop.

 

I dropped the useless phone book on the desk.

 

“Sheila?” she said by way of announcement, but like it was a question already.

 

I caught the antipodean accent.

 

“I’d say so!” I appreciated, whilst casually pointing at the discarded Silver Pages.

 

“So happens I was just looking under ‘S’ in this here Australian / American dictionary”, I witticismed.

 

She blushed divine, but fought her embarrassment girlfully.

 

“You Sam Splayed?” she lisped with a hint of giggle, like a schoolgirl with a tooth-brace.

 

It was sweet. She was sweet. She was sugar candy.

 

Hearing Sam’s name hurt; but it wasn’t the chick’s fault. She obviously didn’t know it should no longer be on the door.

 

“Try again” I hoarsed, hiding that I was choking-up, by giving a cough an Oscar.

 

“Then you’re Charlotte Moans?”

 

“Right second time: give the chick a prize!” I scowled, still hurting from the reminder of Sam.

 

“I was told to be sure to see Sam?” the honeybun insisted, with a look that made me regret I’d spit acid.

 

“Sam got an assignment” I told her. “Soughta undercover. Subterranean you might say”.

 

“Will she be back soon?”, Sheila queried with a look that put a furrow on her brow that should never have been there at her age.

 

“No honey. She’s kinda boxed-in right now”, I answered, composure recovered.

 

This could be a case for some dollars. I needed the dollars. I wanted no cases, but my bank manager had debt’s death over me.

 

I casualled her a line or two to impress: “You’re Sheila Godskiss from Brisbane. You don’t have a steady girlfriend. You majored in astrophysics, but they won’t let you play with our fireworks, so, you were a temporary book-shift in the downtown library. Now your visa’s dry and you don’t wanna say ‘USA bye-bye’. You wear eye-glasses. You’re left-handed. You’re strictly vegetarian, but would still vote Republican if they’d letya. You gymnasium five times a week, and your tan is 100% genuine, hills, dales, and Bermuda triangle. You’ve modelled in Oz under the name ‘Ellen’, but the TV doc about the life of a glamour pic model, you were in down-under, ain’t been shown here yet”.

 

She clapped her pretty hands together and gasp-giggled with astonishment at my powers of deduction.

 

I ogled this babe head to toes, forgot ‘deduct’ and wished ‘seduct’ instead.

 

Then she whisper-lisped with her very first smile at me: “Wow!: but ‘scuse me? How did you know my documentary as ‘Ellen’ has yet to appear over here?”

 

“From the TV guide” I honested. “There’s been no ‘Ellen’ entry, my dear, in ‘What’s On’ ”, I quipped in follow-up, to get that one out the way.

 

“You’ve lost your twin sis Cindy. Am I right, or am I right?”

 

“How did you know? They’ve been keeping it out of the news. So, how did you know?!” Sheila concerned.

 

Her look of care and worry ‘bout her three-minutes-younger sister told of ‘love divine all loves excelling’. Sheila was scorching my heart, but my pocket-book was unsinged and empty.

 

“I got my contacts. I’m an ex cop; but not that ex as I don’t get to hear none”, I informed her.

 

“I have to pay a price though” I mused, as much to myself as to Sheila, as I thought of how long it had been since I’d last face-to-faced with Kismet Lipps.

 

“I have to pay a price though” I repeated. My best contact’s a captain now, and she’s asked me to fill the stockings at the foot of her bed every Christmas I can recall.” I joked. “Not that I’ve fulfilled them yet!” I quipped to try to cheer the honeybun, but falling flat with my timing.

 

Sheila had rainbowed-diamonds in her emerald peepers, or else she was crying.

 

“It’s not for the cops”, she said. “It’s just a missing person wrap. Cindy’s a grown girl. The cops don’t do ‘lost property’. Captain Kismet Lipps sent me here. She said I oughta find a good dick”, Sheila whispered in a quavering voice, lacking any indication she did irony.

 

“Okay honey, if you want a dick there’s few dicks ’ll give you better service than mine: my agency that is ….”

 

“What are your fees though?” she whispered with her kaleidoscopic mysteries lowered to study her pretty damned pretty feet.

 

“One-hundred down, then a hundred a day, plus expenses.” I stereotyped.

 

“Oh gosh!” Sheila sweetened the air with her sudden gasp. My billfold plummeted but not my heart. This chick was gonna say she was cleaned out, but oh to hear it from those bee-stung lips of hers…!

 

She had a pout I just knew was north and south. I could sense her love-lips were a matching prayer for the top pair. I just knew too that she was as tight as a snare drum inside: Virginia before Louisiana purchased her, or whatever it was. Virginia with a vertical smile more compelling than that Venus D. Milo’s; or was it that other chick, ‘La Gondola’ - the one in the statue not the painting? What the hell: this babe was all too well armed.

 

“Gosh!” Sheila repeated, echoing all she would ever admit to having learned at her girls-only Swiss finishing school.

 

“Do you take plastic?” she sincered searingly sweetly.

 

“I prefer them as nature made them”, I quipped, Just knowing that the rock ‘n rollers in her top were the cream of no genetically modified crop.

 

Sheila had not cottoned on to my meaning, but, ‘Ahem!’ as she glided to a chair to stun me innocent-knowingly with her entirely sincere sweetness, putting an embossed green rectangle on my cluttered desk, her hem rustled vertical, to reveal vast acres of achingly sumptuous thigh.

 

“I meant Amex”, she smiled as she looked million-dollarly at me, and slid the rounded-off corners of the tablet of loan toward me.

 

“I know you did honey”, I reassured, trying not to break sweat as I caught the sugar of her breath and her tone played xylophone riffs along by spine.

 

As she leaned over with her card, her cleavage dream-crevassed vast, as her heavies were grabbed by goddam lucky gravity.

 

“They’ll…I mean, that’ll do nicely”, I summoned from adland’s memory-bank.

 

I keyed in the down-payment and two day’s advance. Sheila didn’t wince.

 

I slid the round-shouldered sliver into my machine and glanced for her to stick in her personal ID number. The top middle and bottom of it was ‘482237’. Speaking figuratively or not, ‘no need to wonder how she manages to memorise that’ I thought.

 

“Suppose you give me the griff on Cindy. Whendya last clap your desire-provokers on your kid sister, honey?

 

My 100-Watt globe played halo to heaven as Sheila shook her beach bleach blonde to compose herself, and her natural highlights shimmered. Her pretty index fored a figure eight on my desk. She was recalling and did not want disturb. Disturb deeply she did in one-way traffic though. She looked up silently twice, trying, I knew, to assess what she could confess.

 

“I’ve heard it all before honey”, I ventured, to sooth.

 

“Cindy I got into films with me?”, Sheila began.

 

This girl spoke like that: in questions that had no answers unless she provided them. And did she have some answers!

 

“You were right about the visa running out. Cindy’s too. We needed the money?…

 

“It was called ‘Sugar and Spice’, like the saying: ‘sugar and spice and all things nice’….’that’s what girls are made of’?”

 

“We have beautiful bodies as well as fine minds”.

 

‘Amen to that’ I thought.

 

A change of Sheila’s tone here suggested that, ‘the case for the defence’ was being mounted. I wondered what goddam lucky bastard had mounted her, cos I just knew as she blew she was talking blue.

 

“Cindy and me, we’re idents? You get two of everything exactly matching?”

 

‘When it’s not four that is!’ I thought.

 

“She’s right-handed and I’m left, but….Well we wore differently coloured thongs so they could be sure to tell us apart?”

 

“We were down to our thongs in the sugar cane? We had to wield machetes and hack the cane down, while a lovely negress girl oversaw these two white girl chain-gang prisoneresses. That was the scene for the film?”

 

Tears were welling on the edge of heaven’s lighthouses. I sensed she was leading up to her point: points as it happened.

 

“It’s not as if…. It’s not as if…. Just because we are sisters don’t mean…. We….. we’ve… we’ve always kissed that way?”

 

“It was beautiful. It has always been beautiful. Just because we are sisters don’t mean….”

 

“It was after they’d worked us till we dropped cutting the cane. It was in the film. It was after we had been worked all day like slaves?”

 

“We were all sweated up and exhausted? Then they dunked us, all sweaty, in the pile of refined sugar, and rolled us over and over till we were candy girls from top to toe?”

 

“Then we played for a while rubbing the stuck-on sugar off of each other? And we were licking the sugar off each other…. off of our nipples?”

 

“Then we sixty-nined, rolling tank track: you know head-over-heals and heels-over-head over and over, in the sugar?”

 

“…It was the cameras. Cindy felt soiled…We’d done it since we were teens …”

 

“Then there was a scene when I was going to be beaten by the negress for being naughty with my sister? Only we’d switched thongs earlier, just as a prank, before they stripped us Jill-naked and rolled us all sweaty in the sugar?”

 

“They couldn’t tell us apart you see?”

 

“So it was Cindy…. They whipped Cindy with a spilt green sugar cane. They whipped her tits till she came…..she came and came!”

 

I shouted and screamed that they were whipping my sister and they shoulda been whipping me. But that was in the script? That was what they expected to hear? And they couldn’t tell us apart…..”

 

“It was me! It was supposed to be me they caned. Cindy knew that. Yet she wanted so to play the joke of switching over our identity thongs?….”

 

“It was the cameras. Cindy felt soiled…and yet she came when they caned her tits and split her nipples…it was horrible, and yet so beautiful… so very beautiful...”

 

Sheila’s sobs broke my heart. She perched perky on my lap now, and I held her around a waist I could have put my arm around three-times twice, she was so slim.

 

Her hem was rucked up unbidden, and so I looked down on her pudenda-pouched virgin-white thong, realising as I read its unwritten message, that this astounding twenty-year-old honey-child had probably only ever yet made love with her twin sister.

 

I felt her heavies heave with her sobs. My nipples and my nibble-knob throbbed as this girl of girls announced by ointments appointment with anointment of my lower lips.

 

She was right. Sheila was right. It was indeed ‘beautiful’.

……………

 

Always a girl of action, I rose and straightened my tux of its crooked businessgirl’s stripes, as I slid the dream off of my longing lap, and hooked for my fedora.

 

Sheila stood in her heelless tiptop-tiptoe ballet booties on legs longer than damnation, like an obedient wife longing for a strong husbandgirl to take her in charge.

 

That made me weak inside. I couldn’t let this honey down.

 

So she’d had a romp in the sugar with her sweet sister in front of the one-eyed spy. She was dream cream and only dream cream should make love to dream cream. There were only two ways to make love to a dame like Sheila: get her twin sister tonguing her honeypot, or slap her butt to perdition.

 

Where were we diving? The precinct of course. Lipps owed me on this one. ‘Lost property’ my ass!! This was big. This was too big for the cops and so they’d pushed it up my snatch. I wasn’t having that crap. Kismet Lipps could have this back and the babe as the sugar-candy topping.

 

Lipps and me went back years. Sam, me, and her, had been cop-college top of class together. She was the really smart one though. Only dumb smucks like Sam and me went gumshoe.

 

Lipps had only made captain already, but she had her feelers out for chief and a politician’s way with her. She was the kinda girl who could shake hands and smile at Cam 1 like she meant it for real. She’d been glad-handing downtown in her spare time. I’d seen it on the one-eyed monster. I’d have voted for her too, if I coulda been assed to vote.

 

She hadn’t looked me out of late. She’d been there when Sam’d stopped one of course. Gave a good obit at the ‘goodbye Sam’ too. But she knew I’d been cuddling the bottle since then, and didn’t want to risk a bad image.

 

A private investigator’d better go down those dream streets with arms taken up against that sea of bubbles. It had been a while since I’d been on duty. I made the babe turn, opened my desk drawer and slid my black-Jill into its intimate scabbard. I had all my feminine weaponry in fine fettle, but a cosh lends weight when bluff turns to rough. I needed get licence back for my six-chamber. My bottle kissing had kissed that farewell for nowsville.

 

Sheila just then looked over her shoulder. Her kisser was as gorgeous sad as it would be lit with smiles. She was a lady outta her league. She was looking to me for protection.

 

Even as she told me about her and her sis, my antenna had quivered.

 

Nah. Not just cos she was a looker with a bod to make a nunnery jerk off: I mean the warning signs: the ju ju tom tom voodoo: the ‘save our Charley’ compulsive impulse.

 

If Lola wasn’t behind this, then I was a hetero. And if Lola was behind this, then I was a corpse. If Sheila was outta her depth and taking me on board, then both of us were down drowning.

 

But Lola was in the state pen best I knew.

 

I smiled at the doll. It was a big mistake. She smiled back and my heart went ‘spoon moon June’ like in all the crappy love songs.

 

I knew a girl could hitya in the billfold; I knew a girl could Niagara ya slot; but this kid got my tick-tocker pounding like my last breath was sunset. She was disturbing my equilibrium. She moved me like a fleet of bulldozers on high-octane gas. She had my soul in those goddam pretty little hands of hers. I tried like hades not to show it. I didn’t then know if she knowed it.

 

In just that one smile I saw a future of love and happiness. It momented before my mind’s eyes. The apartment with this doll wearing only her apron, all leggy and legs, greeting hubby me with a sexy chaste kiss after my: ‘Hi honey I’m home’ post night-shift, as I’d tossed my fedora on a peg that stuck out less hard that my clit while I watched her ass weaving mysteries while she bent over the range and flicked my eggs over, before I’d sweep her up in my arms like she weighed feather, and take her bedroom to give her what for, like I’d did all day every night since we were married church, even five years gone, till I was an insomniac zombie, even as she still begged for more and more and more….

 

I snapped myself outta that. What would a doll dame like Sheila want with a 30-year-old shopsoiled dick like moi?

 

Here and now in the world real, I beckoned her to go head of me, and watched legs you couldn’t get in Macy’s walking wonderful waltz. She reached the glass-panelled door and waited. She wanted me to open it for her like she was a lady.

 

Of course I did. She was a lady. It was a goddam honour to make a way for such a chick. Her ‘thank you’ and smile brought a lump to my throat.

 

Sheila knew she had legs. And I somehowed she knew I knew she had legs. Because she knew I knew she had legs, she gave me the full circus.

 

When your hem is above half-mast on sighs for thighs, you don’t need to lift it like it would drag sidewalk, but she did. All the way down the thirteen steps from my 122V Faker Street office apartment, I watched Sheila tiptoe the sight fantastic in a fandango of smooth complexioned, complex soft curves, and gentle muscularity that combined the highest functionality with death’s-last-breath-taking beauty.

 

As she waited for me at the foot of the stairs, she played straighten-the-stocking with her left leg with her bee-stungs formed like a kiss, and with the subliminal look of her smoky-greens signalling me to ogle and enjoy, whilst she pretend-studied her suspender clasp like it was a masters degree.

 

She had me in flames spinning to ground-zero-splat. I coulda taken her there and then. But I sensed she was just a vulnerable honey who knew no other way of finding comfort.

 

Sheila showed all the signs. She was a nympho’s nympho. She had that voracious insatiability of the lonely girl who’s only alive when she’s orgasm. I wondered how old she’d been when she’d first discovered she had irresistible girl-appeal.

 

“You’ve got great legs honey: two of them. But either you distract me like hell, or we find your kid sis. Which is it gonna be?”

 

“I’m sorry Charley…I just thought….”, she simpered.

 

“Don’t try so hard honey. You got first prize twice over, and some. Just ‘be’ and you’ll still knock ‘em dead”, I older and wiser-womaned her.

 

“Thank you Charley” Sheila codded wised-up, with an underlying hint of the sexual predator rethinking her strat.

 

We were street now. The sidewalk shimmered heat haze. I hailed cab. A lovely black pony pulling a single shaft two-wheeler was immediately reined over our way.

 

“Hope you folks ain’t in no hurry. My pony just gotta have water in this heat”, the cabbess called down as she kept her foot on the brake of the two-wheel ‘Lovely’ – a nowadays Handsome Cab.

 

“I got the tubes on her so she can drink milk from her own tits, but girlmilk don’t quench no thirst on a day like this”, the cabbess continued.

 

I glanced the ponygirl over. She was bent like they are, over like a downside-up ‘L’. Tiptoed with her big toes gripped in a circular vice, like the bit that holds the candle centre in a candle-holder, her other toes dangling free, she walked as if she had circular iron candle-holders clamped to her big toes. She had, save that they were not candle-holders, but pony shoe irons.

 

Her legs were teriff. She was clearly a strong girl. She needed to be to pull a Lovely around day and night.

 

The face was gorgeous. The eyes brown as black’s darkest shade of brown. Her dark-brown complexion, her whole naked body indeed, shiny with the sweat of her efforts, mirrored the cruel world that enslaved such beauty so.

 

And yet her face was relaxed. Even as her supremely-gorgeous negress’ lips kissed the steel bit that held her jaw open wide, to ensure she obeyed her mistress, the cabbess, when the cabbess pulled on the reins, her face was serene queen.

 

Her hands, indeed her arms, were bound together on her back, in a laced-up single leather glove. The saddle round her belly was tight, as was the crupper-chain passing through a hole in the shaft, so as to hold well over a foot and more of its cold steel hard up her cunt.

 

Though her driver had the regulation carriage whip to hand, the body of the negress showed no blemish. She was clearly being a good girl.

 

She cast down her eyes submissively as I once-overed her.

 

This was state punishment she was doing. She’d been a petty thief or a shoplift, and now she was serving time with the shaft up her shunt all day every day to teach her a lesson.

 

They’d brought her to milk of course. Injections saw to that.

 

She had the tubes inserted in her nips, and going up to her mouth so she could suck her own milk and be self-sufficient 24/7 if need be. Her tits were beauties, hanging like belles of the ball, swinging even as she shifted to ease the weight from one sexy stretched leg to the other.

 

Above her side-blinders, her blinkers, she had a band across her forehead with her pony name: ‘Café-Noir’. She was pure silk caffeine.

 

“We’re in something of a hurry. Can’t you water her later?” I snapped, surprised at my own lack of care for this knock-dead gorgeous animal with the Lovely’s shaft hard n’ high up her sin.

 

‘Café-Noir’ straightened her long strong legs in obedient readiness to tow her torture yet once more.

 

All legs and thighs and stretched stocking tops was Sheila, as I gentled her sweet hand to guide her as first-up into the rear of the Lovely, watching her free swinging giants find gravity’s latest commands and sway toward the ever relocating locus of earth’s centre, as she moved.

 

As she moved they moved. She flowed, they floated, and, they made the bib of her top biblical with their playful prayerful heavy bulbous circumambulatory gravity’s location seeking, till they settled at rest, bar a last swing or two, as she perched her perky rear to make the soft leatherette of the Lovely’s passenger seat, into a princess’ throne. They did not move mountains. They were mountains that moved. The two too moved me deep: and some.

 

I shoulda used the winter blanket to cover Sheila’s knees. Oh god, she was showing it all! As she sat, because of the ballet booties she wore making her toes point straight down to the floor of the Lovely, her calves were curved curve’s curves. Her skirt’s hem was nowhere near her thighs. Oh the size of those thighs as her suspenders stretched to infinity and her stocking tops were veed to near ripping! Above her stocking tops her tanned bare smoothness shimmered a halo hello to my poor tired eyes.

 

She knew she was showing it all, but her gorgeous eyes never entered an accusation of guilt.

 

She must have known I was agog at the site of her pubis pushing out the humidity-made-transparent crotch of her tiny thong. And yet, as I entered the Lovely to sit beside her, she sweetly sidewaysised her head to innocent me.

 

She musta known where my eyes had been, and that I had seen her other smile. She musta known sweat had moistened her crotch and that some of her south lips as well as her mouth lips were to be seen on the scene.

 

Green-eyes straight front she was next though now: the little clit tease.

 

“Where to buddess?” the cabbess indifferented to me.

 

“The Fourteenth Precinct, and streak some lightening” I revenged for the feelings Sheila and ‘Café-Noir’ had aroused in me with their bodies.

 

The cabbess ogled Sheila briefly: Sheila’s brief briefs not the least of the least, even though they were the least of the least and the briefest of the bereft brief.

 

“I hear wedding bells don’t I?”

 

“You gotcha yerself a cracking little honeybun there. Bet she’ll give you sleepless nights aplenty eh?!”

 

“Give them all the hats they could want for their lovely little heads and a dammed good spanking once a month, and that teaches them where money comes from and who’s boss.”

 

I wanted to smile. The cabbess was not being lewd, and she wasn’t wrong if she’d been right about the occasion.

 

As she saw my straight face, Sheila giggled divinely putting pretty fingers on her bee-stungs to tease a silence, even as her eyes above her hand still sparkled adorable mayhem.

 

“Nah: the station house” I corrected, trying to sound stern even whilst longing to kiss Sheila, she was so goddam gorgeous.

 

“Ho de right!” sighed the cabbess as she took the long carriage reins leading to the ponygirl’s mouth-bit, and slapped Café-Noir gently on her blades with a “hup!” and encouraging clicks of her tongue to urge the gorgeous negress forward.

 

Sheila looked like heaven as she watched, as did I, Café-Noir’s rolling rear.

 

Café-Noir’s legs were stronger than twin oxen. One long stride to start us and she gave us the ride of our lives, as she strode the road pulling her load like we were spirits instead of three-dimensional flesh and blood.

 

How it must feel with that prod up ya infinity going in and out like a piston-rod as you trot like Café-Noir trotted us, only hell can tell. But we could see she was sweated-up in more ways than one from her bounden duty, as she clip-clopped in her tiptop-tiptoe big-toe-gripped pony shoes, smacking sparks from the highway as she slapped the concrete with her iron hooves.

 

“How long ya had this one?” I routined, to keep the cabby friendly.

 

“Oh: ‘bout twelve thirty-dayers now. She’s a shoplift. Ain’t had no trouble with her though.”

 

“She called ‘dame-framed’ to the judge, but they all do that don’t they?”

 

“Spoiled her college degree. She was MBA till they took it back off of her.”

 

“Cute kid. English. Outta London”.

 

“She’s….she was, over here scholarship. When she’s done her time, unless she’s sold of course, she’ll have to work pony to repay the bursary they gave her to degree-up.”

 

“I’m minded to buy her when she’s freed though. I could do worse for a hard worker. Depends how high she goes at auction. She can sort her debts later.”

 

“I race pony’n trap spare time. But this’ns a ‘strong n’ steady go’, not a prancer.”

 

“Your babes got the legs for a prancer; or I ain’t gotten eyes for a fine-tuned well-turned calf n’ dynamo thighs. Bet she can straight-leg those pretty ankles behind her ears and no bothersome.”

 

“She’d queen at kick-box. Got power as well as beauty in those shapelies. Need the right training of course.”

 

“When you’ve got married had your fling thing, and gotten tired of her, give her to me, and I’ll give you her back six-month’s ticktock, fit as a flea and broken to tit-reins, so you can ride her solo, cock-horse style, or have her pull a speed gig.”

 

“Yep, she’d be a great prancer alrightee. You’d have to pay expenses though… training to tit-reins don’t come cheap.”

 

“If she’s a bright babe she’ll learn her left and right commands are from her left and right tits when she gets ‘em tugged by the left or right rein, but you have to teach ‘em to stop and go, and walk, and trot, and lope, and gallop, and run: I’d teach her ‘display-legs’ too. It ain’t easy to teach ‘em how to read all those complications when messaged only by tugs on their tits… no siree it ain’t”

 

“Still, that’s what god gave ponygirl’s left and right tits fer….”

 

“When I retire from this game I’m gonna ranch girls like yours.”

 

“She an English babe? They say English babes are best. They’re so well-mannered and not frisky-risky like yankee dames…”

 

The cabbess wound her life story out as Café-Noir caressed the road, her lovely dark-brown curl-crowned head bobbing, as she clip-clopped her heavy hooves and swung her rear of any year while the shaft played violent violin come-and-go-bow in her satan, to remind her not to be a naughty girl ever again.

 

I’d subliminalled Sheila’s sublime face as she listened to herself being assessed as a should-be ponygirl prancer. She didn’t know or didn’t realise I was watching, and I saw her bite her lower bee-stung in the fight not to play her pretty fingers on the love-bud toppin’ her devil’s-divide, top her sass-soaked thong.

 

She was all wetted up and ready to go. It was more than humidity that made her gusset transparent. Talk of her being broken to tit-reins made her instant cross legs and tighten her thighs in a grip I longed by head was between. She was being itched by a juicy melon and having to squeeze it massive time. She was crack-hot with a hot crack. She was a juicy-Lucy with a juicy lucifer.

 

If I’d guessed that, like a lotta girls, she’d wanted pony when she was a teen, I’d not have lost my nil fortune for sure.

 

Dames like her and her twin sis coulda walked into any corral.

 

Ponygirl was a good career. Lots of rich bitches had them. Sheila and Cindy could have been broken to pair. They’d have fetched a fortune at auction. They could have taken themselves cattle-market, and bankrolled their futures. Ten-years pony, then stud, then retirement when their foals were outta high school.

 

Then stupid me thought I was glad Sheila hadn’t gone pony, cos I’d never have met her!

 

The flash of this thought made me realise I was getting burned by this dame, and I needed the goddam fire service before I leaped on her and gave her what she deserved, or else her ass a dammed good smacking, which woulda been one and the same.

……………..

 

The cabbess had no need of reining Café-Noir on her course to the cop precinct. She was a bright pony and could find her own way.

 

It was a crime to treat a girl the way they were treating Café-Noir for committing a crime; if crime she had committed. And, yet, it would have been a crime not to treat her that way.

 

Café-Noir was pony. She’d found her niche. She’d be cab-rank for the rest of her youth. If only she coulda started over, and volunteered pony first-up, instead of going college, she coulda made her money by hiring herself out.

 

As it was, the poor kid had blown it. Naughty girls got slapped and slapped damn hard these days, and this pony-pull was Café-Noir’s slapping.

 

I had my opine on what it was worth to punish a girl that way.

 

Okay, so petroleum gas was now as rare as Eskimo bikinis, and this kid was filling-in where a gas driven cab was a no show consequent. But to have the naughty-girls do for free what free girls would willingly do for pay: well it put honest ponygirls outta a job, and that much I knew, and that much I cared that I shudda voted in the referendum instead of being a dumb assed cluck and assuming every other girl ‘ud give it the ‘no way’.

 

Now half the cabs in New Edingow were tugged by freebies on punishment like Café-Noir, and it only drove more girls to being naughty, cos they couldn’t make a living doing hire-pony no more.

 

So I’ll get off of my high horse, or should that be ‘pony’? I ain’t no politic chick, but you must see my reasonin’ ain’t so very wild.

……………..

 

As Café-Noir drew us to a halt at the station house, I handed the princess down. Another sugar sweet ‘thank you’ to me, and Cupid had run clean outta darts, lessen she took her shot-ones back outta my heart.

 

I generoused the tip. I wanted Café-Noir to get her water, and some. I patted her flank to thank her for the ride, then the Aussie angel and I made for inside the cop show.

……………..

 

Shit happens and so, instantly, did Lieutenant Pat McClit, with all the Hibernian fire that her flame red curls promised.

 

She hated me for not spanking her at a Christmas party three-years memory lane.

 

I’d known she’d enjoy it, so I’d played the real sade by denying her.

 

She’d loved that too, but had taken to provoking me to pounding her lovely ass, by answering me back even when I hadn’t even spouted first yet.

 

She gave me the full curvy-kitten now as she came the prussic. I mentalled that she needed my cosh up her, anal, and woulda taken her to the Jill to give her some, had the babe not been with me.

 

“What you here for Moans? This ain’t no drug store. We don’t do hooch here, you lush!” McClit sarcasmed.

 

“About Lola”, I said, “I wanna see Lipps”

 

“Whadda ya mean ‘Lola’. Lola was a Fed case. Just maybe it’s escaped your little dead cells, but Lipps is New Edingow City Police, not FBI.”

 

McClit then belatedly realised Sheila, and winked at her as she questioned me up: “Say: is the honeybun a witness?”

 

“Maybe”, I maybied.

 

“Well fuck you Moans, she ain’t gonna be your lover-girl, lessen she’s inta necrophilia. So what’s her angle, bar that she’s only gotten curves?”

 

McClit didn’t wait for my answer. She’d got a double-eyeful of Sheila’s forward projections and was stiffed.

 

“Wow and double wow!” McClit ogled. You’re one swell dame with two swell swells….Say, honeybun, if you need some help holding up those heavies you’re upfronting, I got a couple of willing hands!”, she smirked.

 

That did it for me. I saw sunrise and sunset redder than McClit’s curly mop top. I smacked her, my right fist her left jaw, grabbed her wrist as she swung to match me southpaw, hammerlocked her arm half-up her back, and kissed her full on her goddam gorgeous mouth.

 

McClit was blizzard scissored. She melted like a blowtorched ice cube. As I tongued her tonsils, she drew back and pushed me off with a hand saying one thing, and eyes begging another. And the heaves she was panting even as she gave me the push told me she was mine if I could be assed to click my fingers.

 

“You’re a shit Moans!” McClit gasped ‘tween heavy bosomic pants.

 

“And you need another slug McClit”, I reflexed.

 

McClit’d melted all rightee. She was all tenterhooks now. She longed for another kiss and she knew she wasn’t gonna get one.

 

“I’ll see if the captain’s free”, she whispered, giving me a look that said she hoped I’d follow and that the captain’s room would be empty for us to parlez vous entre nous some more.

 

I mentalled McClit’s bare tits pressing flattened hard on the cold partition, and her nips like red hot diamonds scratching ‘L’ ‘O’ ‘V’ ‘E’ on the frosted-glass, as I slapped her bare ass to the hundredth dimension while she sobbed and begged for less and more.

 

I shook that off for a raincheck day.

 

“I could use some coffee. The chick only takes iced spring-water. Fix it for us will ya McClit” I triumphed.

 

“Yes. Yes, of course Charley”, McClit surrendered

 

I’d already peripheralled a smile coming our way. It was Lipps. It wasn’t Kismet Lipps. Kismet was love on legs. This was Lipps the politician, putting it on for public consumption. I’d hoped for the real McCoy, ‘the real McKismet’ as you might say. The Kismet I knew and loved. But hey, any smile in a storm.

 

“Charley! It’s been such a long whiles!” Kismet, who was not ‘my Kismet’, professionalled, as she took both my hands in hers, and kissed my right hand’s fingers, still holding both my hands after, so as to look me full-on with her faked sincerity, politician to the core already.

 

“And you, Charley Moans, you old devil, who’s the lovely girl?!

 

“This here is Sheila. Sheila meet Kismet Lipps like you you’d never met already”, I sarcasmed.

 

That these girls had met before I could see in Sheila’s innocent’s innocent face even if I didn’t certain for know it. So why did Kismet pretend not to recall? She was busy bee on long legs, but….

 

I got my intended reassurance a coupla tick-tocks later.

 

“Sheila?…. Sheila?…. Of course, of course, Sheila Godskiss! Oh now honey, did this great dick here find your clit-match for you already? Kismet concerned holding botha Sheila’s damned pretty little mits.

 

“Nope!” I responded, giving an eyebrow lift and eyes-up that indicated the opened door of Kismet Lipps’ private office.

 

Spotting I was signalling personal powwow’, Kismet began to slink before us back to her lair.

 

I don’t know why I did it even now, but, like she was my girl already, I took Sheila’s hand to lead her to Kismet’s hutch, only to see the look of love in Sheila’s eyes as she hung her head and blushed with pleasure.

 

In the instant, behind Sheila’s darling behind, a cabinet drawer magnum handgun slammed, a tear-filled voice shouted: “fucking bitch!!” and, multiple-clicking, Pat McClit’s 12-inch heels wiggled past us to the Jill, at nine-hundred-ninety, like there was a fire in there that needed the water her eyes were sprinkling already.

 

In Kismet’s hole, door shut, I eyed the framed black-and-white on the wall, of me Kismet and Sam in full uniform at training-over pass-out times past.

 

Cop-college had taught me nothing compared with what P.I. had dredged up. Yesterdaysville, I looked innocent and happy. We were at the front, the pride of the year, with Kismet centre, pride of the pride of the year.

 

“Great days weren’t they Charley?” Kismet soothed as she followed my gaze to the photo.

 

“Remember when you climbed the clock tower to fly flag with Sam’s panties? She was so embarrassed! You’d just been rubbing her up the right way, and she swore her snail slick would be on show. Then, next day, when you were step-forwarded at redeye-stand-to, you pointed out that they were true American red white and blue, and they fucking let you off!!

 

Kismet guffawed at the fond memory with all the sincerity of a disc jockey.

 

Now I had Kismet alone with just me and the chick, I furnaced: “Why’d you make out like you couldn’t remember the doll? Nobody coulda seen a kisser as pretty as hers for one millitick and not have it burn mem. You always had an eye for a pretty girl, so why make out like you never cast your globes over Sheila? And before you answer, politician’s politician as you are now, I ain’t taking no Taurus manure. You friggin’ phoned me to tell you had these twins that had lost one half of their double-act. You pushed Sheila my way, or rather Sam’s way. You sent her looking for Sam when you knew damned well that Sam was already doin’ permanent skywatch. What is it with you these days Kismet. Just what’s going down, and is it hogwash or is it hogwash?!!

 

“It was cover”, the old Kismet, the Kismet I knew and loved began, her voce gone sotto, as she raised a hand flat palm of peace toward by storm.

 

“Though I was heading her your way, I couldn’t give Sheila your name. If the babe went around asking for Sam, it disguised that she’d been directed to you by me. Who’d have believed I, Kismet Lipps, would have told her to find Sam, when I was chief-speak at Sam’s funeral? If she’d been waylaid and told them she’d been sent by me to find Sam, they’d have thought she was one grape short of the full vineyard, and let her go.”

 

“Who’s ‘they’, as if I didn’t know?” I retorted.

 

“Delilah Dillinger’s north-side muscle. DD’s been nippling in on Lola’s territory, ever since you and Sam saw Lola’s chick, Bonito Clyde, safely shipped out to break rocks with her tits on Al Clitras. Recall, you and Sam wrapped her for doping race-ponygirls down Georgia way, and Bonito got nine-hundred-ninety-nine no-paroles.”

 

“Yea”, I sarcasmed, “If’n Bonito hadn’t gotten a smart lawyer, she coulda got life.”

 

Kismet continued her excuses: “Lola’s been losing territory to Delilah ever since. Delilah grabbed Bonito’s former patch: the ground Lola ‘n Bonito planned combine when they eventually merged at the altar marriage style?”

 

“Lola’s angrier than a hornet without an ass to sting. She’s out for revenge. Lola’s still got the hots for Bonito and she don’t gonna let those who put her jailbird get away. You me and Sam are three, two, and one on her list. Least Sam was till she got permanented.”

 

“I can look after myself”, I confidenced, “But what if Lola’s mob had gotten Sheila when you let her roam street, or are they disbanding now Delilah’s mob is winning out and Lola herself’s in the cage?” I tentatived.

 

“Lola ain’t doin’ no bird”, Kismet shocked me.

 

“I thought the Feds had Lola in the slammer, key dumped Pacific-mid” I queruloused.

 

“They were close”, said Kismet. “They Al Caponed her, but she got a good lawyer and the Internal Revenue Service waved white flag. You’da heard all this if you hadn’t been bourbon-on-the-rocks all summer after Sam got slammed”.

 

“What d’ya expect me to do: tap temperance tambourine?! I spat.

 

“Sorry Charley. That was shit of me…” Kismet apologised.

 

“Just level with me Kismet!” I clichéd.

 

“Lola was Fed, but the top girl got her ears burned. Three times this summer the Feds had Lola chopping-block, and three times she skipped blade. There’s this minorities thing going down in Washington right now. Lola pleaded the albino-negress-rare that she is, and double-indemnity to go with it. With the four-yearly coming up and President Cleavage Dishabille wanting sure a wiggle-over for her second term, Lola was on a winner, ass up or clit down.”

 

“I’m a white and negress half-cast myself” I countered, “And I ain’t noticed my liberties getting no freer outta Capitol Hill”.

 

“You’re one hell of a gorgeous mix Charley, they should make you recipe for all girls, but you don’t show positive on photo negatives like Lola’s albino does. You ain’t a one-girl double-minority liken she is. And you ain’t got Lola’s bank roll”, Kismet countered.

 

“Lola’s gotten big league contacts ass pocket. The Feds got the ‘hands off or tits will roll’ megaphoned by J Eagar Beaver herself. Beaver’s looking politics four-years on when Cleavage has to go speech circuit dinners.”

 

“That circled the square. The Feds can’t touch Lola none no more. President says so. J Eagar Beaver chief FBI herself says so. So the Feds can’t do diddly squit while Lola makes out the ‘it’s all honest money’ propaganda, working charity like a string orchestra. Wouldn’t surprise no-one if Lola didn’t run veep with J Eagar, November four years. Someone’s gotta bankroll J Eagar’s campaign, and Lola’s emptied forty banks goddamit.”

 

“If the Feds can’t touch Lola, then it’s my clit in the guillotine if I try. I ain’t got no support from the chief. Lola’s a rat in the New Edingow sewers, my shitpile in particular, but I can’t even mention her in my election campaign, or the prezers gonna press my button and ask who the fuck I think I once was”.

 

“I thought a sharp cookie like you, Charley, would soon latch that Lola was in this. She still does the blue. There’s a big market now the far east’s gone liberal. You can betcha that Lola’s got this kid’s mirror-match and is wanting to make the brace.”

 

“You know Lola like I know Lola. She’ll be looking out for Sheila’s snatch, so she can grab Sheila to join her kid sister in whatever Lola’s next skin-flick is to involve. She’ll have gotten the script wrote and be on the lookout for this doll. That’s Cindy’s best protection. Lola’ll not touch a pube of Cindy’s till she’s gotten double-bush”.

 

“And you’d figured all this, and still you let Sheila street where Lola’s mob coulda grabbed her anytime?!” I aghasted.

 

“Natch I sent her straight to you! I couldn’t even give her escort if the chief was not to chop my nips. I knew you needed to get off the bottle and that girl-in-shining-armour you’ve always been, would see you see Sheila’s tits were in the best of hands. No Feds. No NEPD. What else was I to do? Now Sam’s gone walkabout, you’re the best P.I. New Edingow has got Charley….…..”

 

“…..Sorry ‘bout using Sam’s name that way when I sent Sheila to you though, but……”

 

This was the old Kismet, the Kismet I knew and loved. I knew so because I’d watched her eyes. As she finished giving me the beans, I followed her beam, reached over and tugged Sheila’s hemline so it covered a millimetre more than one sixteenth of her goddam gorgeous thighs.

 

As the princess blushed and wriggled potent provoc in her seat, Kismet now looked at me instead of the doll’s legs. Then we exchanged smiles. We both appreciated a billion-dollar babe when we saw one, and we could both see that Sheila was a zillion-trillioner.

……………

 

The click of high heels sets my clit twitch. I like them drumming sidewalk, but tiled floor comes a close second.

 

Pat McClit had unbuttoned some to give me the full eyeful of the valley between the bells ding-donging in her shirt as they dangled down and offered to whiten my black coffee.

 

She’d done drink fetch, and already landed the honeybun with an opened bottle of chilled Scottish Highland H2O, with a straw for her bee-stungs: a nice touch.

 

“Is there anything else I can get you Charley? If you can see anything that you would like…” Pat whisper-simpered moving to undo yet another button.

 

“That’ll be all: thank you lieutenant”, Kismet intervened.

 

Then we all watched as McClit stomped out on her twelve-inch stilettos. And, as our eyes finally lost sight of the greatest ass in the NEPD, Kismet winked at me.

 

“Pat’s had the hots for you since three-years back” Kismet obvioused.

 

“Bet she’s a little ball of fire beddy-byes wise. You’d need an asbestos mattress and the sprinklers turned off. Don’t bed her above floor five-hundred or the fire service will have to let you fry!” she grinned.

 

There was a bitter taste to the coffee I’d twiced. More headquarters dollar squeezing I supposed.

 

“She’s sure a hot number. She oughta find a steady”, I surprisingly slurred.

 

I looked over at the angel. All the stress of what had been going down had finally gotten to her. The poor kid was so zed-land, she’d fallen asleep in her chair, and was snoring like a pretty kitten: a kitten showing how tiny her thong was mind you.

 

“I either gotta find a way in to Lola’s, to get Cindy back out to rejoin her double-wammy-knockout; or I need to lure Lola out”, I began, thinking aloud to Kismet.

 

“Lola’l always greed for more money. I’m gonna play real-wealthy new girlfarm start-up, and put a false add on the internet offering to buy Cindy for top dollar. I’ll post Sheila as an already-owned multi-pint ponygirl-and-cart-pull, and say I’m looking to double the milk-yield, so I’m willing to pay anything to buy the matching pair of tits. Then I’ll play hard to get, and demand come out to the farm with the goods in tow. Maybe I can lure Lola out alone with Cindy on a string, by laying down a solo inspect of the goods as part the deal for my buying Cindy’s body-double, to double-head my plough team and quadruple-tit my dairy.”

 

“Meanwhile, I want one of the safe-hides for Sheila while I fully work out my strat”, I told Kismet, save that I was looking the wrong way or else the room was orbit.

 

Then I giggled at the joke about McClit’s high heels, or was it her tits?

 

My eyes were led. My legs were logs. I got up to shake Kismet’s hand, and the floor came up and kissed my ass.

 

Then the chair I had just left, kept moving around like it was playing dodge.

 

I goodnighted Vienna moments later as a black fog rolled over me.

………….

 

I came round from unconscious. My head was clearing from the Michelle Finn my caffeine musta been doped with. I was in one weird predicament. Some kinda huge barn had its roof V-up above my head, and some kinda gathering was going on in there, with champagne and streamers.

 

“Charley! So good of you to join us!” silked a smoky voice I had only heard interview newswise on before now TV. I guessed Lola’s vocals and recogged Delilah Dillinger’s follow-up giggles. What the fuck was going down here?!

 

I turned my close-cropped curly-girly-haired head to the sound, and instanced a table decision-boardroom, with Lola and Dillinger side-to-siding like buddies since birth planet earth.

 

Angels was either side of these two demons from hell. You couldn’ta split a pube between those idents. They were double the horniest trouble a girl could ever hopeta come across.

 

Sheila’s eyes, it musta been Sheila, I think it was Sheila, looked love my way with tenderness that only girl can feel. Her sis Cindy, I think it was Cindy, looked Sheila’s way, and then mine, and, despite Lola and Delilah tweening them, the twins beamed sad double-love my way with their gentle-greens. Clearly the sweethearts’ hearts pumped as one and they could telepathy.

 

As they were now bid stood, I experted the twins. They were delicious, oh so, in sky-blue for one and sea green for the other: silk evening gowns that gloved them shoulders to tiptop-tiptoed toes: dresses hugging closer than condoms.

 

Every swerve of superb curves tingled your nerves. Long sleeves to pretty wrists and dainty hands, Chinese collars, and buttons on those loops that are so frustrating to fasten but such great fashion, all down front middle.

 

They swelled-out their all-caressing dress tops four times over, two times each, with their holy mountains and pointy pinnacle nip tips. Their waists were slimmer than a dieting bee’s. Their dress’s skirts had side slits, and god’s own legs showed all the way up to black lace decorated stocking top, and side of thigh black suspender, as they swayed their delish way my way.

 

Dainty feet in fifteen-inch stiletto-heeled mules, they were looking terrific’s terrif, and just as terrified, as Lola and Delilah armed them around their middle wiggle-makers, and strolled them over to me.

 

“Let’s play a game shall we Charley”, Lola smoothed, seeing my compulsively fascinated eyes ogling the super-dolls. “Which one of these has had it shaved so we can tell her from her pea-pod when we’ve gotten them both doing bed?”

 

One of the angels instantly hung head in a blush-red no rose could rival. But I couldn’t even begin to guess if it was Sheila or Cindy, or Cindy or Sheila.

 

My eyes flamethrowered daggers at Lola.

 

Say what you like about Lola, but she too was fantasia.

 

Paris, Rome, London, with a body that made an hourglass look like it had run outta time, she’d a knocked ‘em dead on the catwalks. And with a face that made that Elena Troy chick look like a pug, she’d have been rolling in fur rugs filled with gold coins, and coulda Fort Knoxed her price for showing even just one of those great legs of hers. And as I’d heard tell, even had she not gone catwalk, she coulda played teach with Einstein, who knew nothing she couldn’ta told better.

 

But if you was the one albino in the litter, then I suppose you’d be weird wired too. She was double-negative. Her folks were negro from mother Africa. The genes had never known a white interloper time eternal back to zero star. Yet here was Lola white-negro with those bright pink eyes that showed hate even when they didn’t show hate. You didn’t look at the eyes unless you wanted poleaxe. I didn’t dare look at the eyes.

 

She couldn’t stand the sun too long, they said. She hadta keep shade on accounta her skin being so sensitive. She’d certainly been too long alone or else her potty training had been badly handled, because she was deep dingo dipshit wacko.

 

Dillinger too coulda walked off first prize in a true-beauty contest, iffing a rival looking for gang-queen takeover, hadn’t put bullet where it wheelchaired her permanent.

 

Her name disguised that she was half-Japanese: the really gorgeous half. The other half had been white like mine, and had given her height and evil. The Japanese side had given her almond shaped eyes and straight black hair that shimmered rainbow when it caught sunlight. She’d had a bad mother fry electric chair before Delilah herself had left high school. Her mother was her heroine: New Edingow’s north side her inheritance.

 

“You ain’t in no position to look shit at me like that Charley”, Lola sarcasmed.

 

“I got you where you’re gonna go, you sleuthing fuck. Delilah and me are talking talks that don’t include you, Sam, or Kismet fucking Lipps. You remaining ass-pains have bye-bye nigh. You’ve pissed in my bed too often an’ too fucking long. You just gotta go. Putting Bonito Clyde made pimped-bitch on Al Clitras for the rest of her natural was not very nice Charley. I got Sam sorted already, in a so-called accidento. Then I just had to let some time pass till I fried your ass, Cos we wouldn’t want the cops getting suspicioso now would we?”

 

“Whaddya mean about Sam?!” I astounded.

 

“S’funny Charley. I had you down as shite bright. Howdya think Sam made history iffing it wasn’t deliberato? Did you fall for that accident crap? Accident smackcident. Of course it looked that way. But have you ever known a rookie copette sharpshoot like that?”

 

“I only employ the best.”

 

“Sam was coming in answer to Lipps’ call from outside the bank rob I set up. Kismet wanted Sam on the bullhorn talking turkey to the chief hostage-taker Sam had known schooldays best friend. My hit knew Sam would be coming around corner sometime. She twenty-twentied Sam’s mount Fujis and put a slug clean-middle Sam’s grand canyon: ‘kapow-splat’! Of course my hit played accidental-fire-off devastated copette, and left the force soon after, nerve broke. Great little actress. I fixed her up with a cab business. San Fran has such steep hills they up-front double-ponygirl there….”

 

“You crazy fucking freak!!” I screamed.

 

“You ain’t heard it all yet Charley. I got Kismet Lipps and Pat McClit by their tits too. Whodya think slipped the Michelle Finn in your best café Columbian at the station house?”

 

“Yessimento, I got Kismet friggin’ Lipps licking my asshole clean to repay a housing loan a cop captain’s pay don’t even begin to slice. Fucking mutt went my front-up savings-and-loans service, unrecognising I was her nice friendly loan shark backing the bank.”

 

“She didn’t read the all-legal small print. So now I keep upping the interest to keep her tits squeezed, and she can’t scream lessen she lose out on her chief cop ambitions.”

 

“Now she gotta make chief to pay my price. I got her clit in my billfold and she’s gonna tumble big-time if she don’t play my kinda ball. Of cause she knows who’s behind the loan now, and whose therefore gonna tell the world which brilliant cop got her mortgage from the proceeds of a suspected criminal and so-called big gang boss, me, if’n she don’t cooperatimento.”

 

“McClit’s just a rat in my pay, cause she spends plastic like it’s melting, and I got her loaned-up by me so she didn’t know where it came from neither, just like fucking Lipps.”

 

“I got them both pissing their tiny knickers in case I spit vocals TV and press. Specially Lipps. She’s ambished top cop since she was a kiderato in diapers. Oh girl am I gonna enjoy her fall to crawl when I call in the loan after she’s made it to chief!”

 

“And just how handy can the cops be? They even gotten you to me. I knew you’d find Sheila irresistible bate. She was outta town when I netted her twin sis for film make. What better than two gorgeous chicks with one stone? Cindy was hook bate to get all four of the Godskiss girls’ tits for me to play spot-the-odd-one-out with.”

 

“Of course I knew Sheila would go crying to the cops about her twin sis discovered gone. So I fixed Kismet send Sheila to you, and I just knew you’d follow Sheila’s legs, like who wouldn’t? Then hey prestimento, all fell into place like my plans always do, and I got the twin angels and the greatest looking P.I. the world has ever set it’s friggin’ lucky eyes on, all in my fucking power all in one swell swoop.”

 

“Fuck you, you freak! Just fucking fuck you!!” I bawled.

 

“Now Charley, that’s no way to talk in front of these gorgeous Aussie ladies” Lola creaped.

 

“Oh. By the way. Sheila said for me to say thank you for that cosh you hide up your sin so it don’t spoil your suit line? I gave her a taste of it inside hers this morning, and she came on it big time multi-time.”

 

“Fuck you!! Oh god fuck you!!!” I screamed.

 

“S’funny” Lola paused, “I hadn’t known she was a virgin or I would have been gentler with her. I’m sure the blood’ll soon wipe of your black-Jill. She seemed to like it rough though. I’ll get her to show you the bruises where I slapped her big-times big-time…..!

 

 “Oh god no….!” I sobbed.

 

“….And I’ve already gifted Cindy to Delilah? As part of our deal?”, Lola gloated.

 

“We all watched Cindy last night. She was great”.

 

“Even Sheila enjoyed it. Seems it’s true that twins can telepath, leastin to judge by Sheila when she was a watching. ‘Spect her panties were wetter than if sheda peed herself, judging by the stiff of her nips ”.

 

“’What happened?’ did I hear you ask?”

 

“Well, since you don’t really wanna know I’ll tell you!” Lola was licking her lips now like she was dripping saliva, she just couldn’t wait to tell me.

 

“We call him ‘King Dong’ because he’s gotten the biggest you ever seen. Cindy doll here was looking fucking great. She was Jill-naked on the bed, with it fresh shaved and super-smooth-depilated so we knew it was her and not her equally fucking gorgeous twin.”

 

“She was still a wickle wirgin girlie-whirly then, and hadn’t earned her pubes yet, so it looked just right for it to be completely smooth and brand-new, and for it to shine in the moonlight with such a soft sheen?”

 

“The way she screamed when Dong jumped onto the scene, you’da thought Cindy had never seen a chimpanzee before!”

 

“Of course we were worried to be sure Cindy’d protect her virtue. And to keep her fucking beautiful legs together, we was proposing to stop her runnin’ away by cuffing her big toes, but we didn’t intha end.”

 

“We figured it right too. We needn’ta bothered, cos she was so petrified. Dong had soon bitten into onea Cindy’s fuckin’ beautiful nips and you shoulda heard Cindy a screamin’. You wouldn’t believe how Sheila was screaming too? It took three of us to hold her back.”

 

“But now Dong was flicking tongue like you wouldn’t believe neither, a suckin’ on Cindy’s tit.”

 

“And so he rakes his paws down breathtake valley ‘tween Cindy’s size forty-eight monumentals, and heads straight for the main prize.”

 

“Oh don’t worry none. Dong was still squeezin’ onea Cindy’s tits even when his right hand reached the source of the girl scent that was making his massive stiff.”

 

“Well, Dong don’t hang around, save around tits like he was just now squeezing Cindy’s. He dived muff, and his tongue went straight into Cindy like he was licking for to reach the dark heart of Australia: all the way in like he was never gonna stop. Then tongue came out, and Dong rammed his dong in hard.”

 

“Course, we all gave a big cheer when Cindy’s halfpenny was popped; all bar sis Sheila, for some reason! You couldn’t hear the cheer none though, for Cindy’s friggin’ scream. It musta really hurt the doll judgin’ by her sobs and tears. There was blood all over my white silk sheets…..”

 

“….But then that happened early. By now Cindy was just fuckin’ loving it? She was wetter than the great lakes in the rainy season, and her kiss-god-gorgeous mouth was wide open when she had her cums. Dong’s cock was still busy in there, and Cindy doll here had her moans on like she’d never been to heaven since back when she was made there. Her mouth was wide-open like she was hoping Dong’s cock would go right through her, and pop out over her tongue!”

 

“My great friend Delilah Dillinger here trained Dong. She showed me how she done it with rewards?”

 

This personification of evil turned from a vile smile at the foul Dillinger, as Dillinger gave a mock sweet love-look at the figure-eight-shaped sweetheart Cindy, whose ass, gorgeously fillin’ out her tight dress full-moon time, Dillinger was runnin’ her sweaty paw over.

 

“Cindy’s gonna give Dong another reward tonight? My great friend Delilah Dillinger has given Cindy to Dong. Cindy’s gonna be Dong’s slave. She’s gonna have to do whatever Dong wants and whenever he wants it. Cindy’s gonna give her lord and master some head tonight, and swallow down whatever comes of it, ain’t you darlin’?”

 

The angel in the sea-green gown hung her head in head-to-neck deep-red-rose blushin’ shame and terrible fear, fighting not to trickle the diamond droplets that cornered her gentle light-greens. Thus Cindy I know knew was the doll in the sea-green hug-gown.

 

“Cindy babe here had better cooperatamundo tonight too, because if she don’t give good head, Dong will bite her nips off for sure, and we don’t want any unpleasant accidentimentos do we?” Lola tormented.

 

“I’ll be watching and filming again of course, alongside of my brand new wife ….”

 

“….Oh hey…..but I almost forgot to tell you ……Sheila and me, and Cindy and Delilah, swapped vows and rings infrontofa judge before cockcrow today? You can say ‘congratulateamento’ now if you like!…”

 

I hung my head near to tears and gasp-sobbed my total horror.

 

“Now I think you can give us, and my camera crew, some ‘tainment while Delilah and me finish parlez vous and seal our new agreement with our nipple-prints.

 

“A juicy girl like you will just love what you gotta do.”

 

I’d known problems before but they were all understatements compared with how Lola and Delilah had me trussed.

 

I was Jill-naked with a leather collar around my swan-like, seeming as if just for show. My ankles were tied round at the top of my thighs with padlocked straps that held them slap up hard on the back of my monumental beauties. My gorgeous legs were thus tied hard up double. My big toes were tied to each other with wire-ties hooked to either end of an axle centring a wheel behind me on the rail.

 

Oh: I haven’t told you yet have I? I was on a monorail. I was astride a rail that ran in a huge circle around the conference table. It was four feet off the ground supported at intervals frequent on rigid up-props. The rail was cold steel. I can testify it was cold steel cos of where it ran.

 

Not only was the rail steel cold, but it was toothed on either side in the valleys of its cross-section.

 

In front of me was some kinda device that had two winding handles, at opposites, like the pedals on an upside-down bicycle.

 

The toothed cold steel rail had an upright ‘I’ cross-section. The device with the winding handles had wheels gripping the insides of the rail.

 

Four saw-toothed steel wheels were gripping into answering saw-teeth thankfully shielded away from my sin, within the grooves in both sides of the ‘I’ shaped rail I straddled with my cunt.

 

The toothed wheels engaging the teeth in the sides of the rail, were ultimately driven by the winding handles. The winding handles, like bicycle pedals, drove a bicycle chain on a big-cogged wheel. That bicycle chain then engaged a smaller size cogged-wheel just below it, and that smaller wheel drove more cogs on multiple axles with cogged-wheel ends, eventually driving the saw-toothed wheels riding the insides of the ‘I’ shaped rail.

 

“You can also say ‘congratulateamento’ to my dearest dear friend Delilah Dillinger, for her powers of invention.” Lola broke back into my pained thoughts.

 

“You my darling daring Charley, are going to taste the girlrail. You may justa noticed that while you were sleeping off the Michelle Finn, I took the trouble to put your sin across that naughty rail you’re straddling oh so delicioso. And you may just have noticed too, that your clit is tied chain to that interesting device with the wind-handles right in front of you”, Lola gloated licking her lovely white negress albino-ghost’s lips.

 

“You must be wondering what’s gonna happen to you, you bitch. Well, when we say go, you’re gonna wind those friggin’ handles like your life depended on it, and the winding will drive the cogs and you’ll be dragged by your clit sliding on the rail inside your opened-out cunt, right round the circle, till we say stop. Only we ain’t gonna say ‘stop’ of course.”

 

“You’d better think dirty so you get a juicy-Lucy double damned quick too, or that rail is gonna rip ya!”

 

“But hey, you’re gonna need an incentive to haul yourself around like that. So, you’ll find your sin is just now astriding a white line painted ‘cross the rail. That there line is your target. If’n you don’t made the whole circuit back to that line in four minutes, you get 10,000 volts in your split-satin-satan, and you are gonna fucking fry!!”

 

“Oh. And by the way. If you’re thinking you ain’t gonna play wheels for us, then if you stop still for more than five-secomondos, you’ll get the 10,000 anyway!”

 

“I hope I make myself clear.”

 

“Hey againamento. And before I say go, and switch on the current-pulser, would you like me to make Sheila and Cindy wiggle their lovely asses for you to watch, to wet you up some, so you slide rail better?” Lola foully sarcasmed.

 

Now I really couldn’t look at Lola’s bright-pink eyes, not because I feared being mesmerised, even though I still did, but because it was as if Lola knew me better than I knew myself.

 

The horror and the terror of what I was about to be made to do triggered some soughta weirdo thinks in me. It was like I wanted to be treated shit. Like I needed treated whore. It was so friggin’ weird, but I was almost getting off on this. All that was stopping me was that I needed for this to be a game and for me to be able to say ‘stop’. Or that was what I told myself. Deeper down and later, I wondered if being so hopelessly helpless didn’t push my deepest buttons deepest deep of all.

 

As I waited ready, I was dryer on that rail than the Sahara wedded to the Kalahari. By the time Lola ordered me ‘go’, slapping my bound-up right thigh like a thunder-clap, and I began winding that handle to pull myself around by my tethered clit, I was in fucking agony.

 

I wound handle and got nowheres. They had wrapped my clit round and round with some tough nylon fishing line, and I was just stretching and stretching my excruciated nub as the pull-engine was down the track, pulling my clit to infinity, but leaving the rest of my body parked back at the station.

 

“Hey Charley: you missed the fuckin’ train!” Lola shouted as the mobsters laughed hyena at me.

 

Then I shot forward and was dragging myself by my clit, winding like fuck to make the four minutes all the way round and back, elsing the 10,000, sliding on my open cunt, rubbing my pink inners along the cold steel of that rail, and being cheered to the friggin’ rafters when they weren’t laughing and pointing and calling me names.

 

Then I was really deep down ashamed. I was wetting up. It was them abusin’ me as much as me being tortured like that. It was as if I needed to be taught my place and that I was lower than all of them, and that I deserved what I was getting and getting good. And I was wetter than a double-June-monsoon by the time I’d done one circle.

 

By the time I was half round again, I was so slippery, it was a wonder my body didn’t overtake the pull-engine.

 

Lola, Delilah and their combined gang-seniors just loved watching me torture myself, pointing and laughing fit to bust their expensive dresses, as my 36-double-dees kept swinging in the ways of my lovely arms as I rotate-winded the pedal handles driving the engine pulling me around by my clit, and thus worked the insides of my devil along the cold rail, like it was being licked out by the longest tongue in the history of the universe.

 

The shame of it made my ointment pour. And the shame was doubled as I saw Lola holding up Sheila’s chin so as to make the deep-deeply embarrassed paradise look at her heroine, me, her supposed protector, forced to make herself dirty slut for public entertainment.

 

For a whole hour of the continuing big gang conference, I circled the rail that circled the conference table pulling my clit out like it would never stop stretching, being now ignored, which turned me on even more.

 

My cunt was raw as I rubbed myself around and around the rail, terrified that I would be conduct to the 10,000 volts if I did not conduct me that way.

 

Why was to be ignored such a turn-on? Oh god why am I such a girl? I was betraying myself and I loved it.

 

Now I was imagining Sheila taking truncheon from my black-Jill as Lola slapped her forty-eight-double-E-cups punchball. I could picture Sheila’s supreme legs parted as she was ripped unvirgin, with her blood her only lubrication, even as her nipples went hardrock from the slapping her monster-mountains were deservedly getting, and I was wetting rail on top of my own slick as I hauled myself around and around by my super-pulled-out clit, thinking of her sweet virgin’s cums as her tits were being all but slapped off of her.

 

If I had really known the pain she had endured, the pain of her tits being slapped to hell and back, even though she loved it rough, and how she had called out ‘Charley’ as she came on my cosh up her sin, I would have been ashamed at the way the thought of her queen-size mammaries getting an empress-sized slapping was slicking me up rocket-snail.

 

And yet now I was trying to catch sight of her and her sis’s legs, and they seemed to be flashing leg specially for me, knowing how this torture would really hurt lessen I kept wet, and knowing that I loved girl and how great their legs were, and how I was a legs girl as much as a tit lover.

 

And an hour was all I could take of winding the hand-pedals and I was crying out with the pain of winding the handles with my arms cramping up by then, but with 10,000 reasons for dare not stop.

 

And Lola came over and put a forefinger on the rail where I had just slid my rubbed-raw sin over.

 

And then she lifted her finger to enjoy my scent, before she called out: “Hey. Lookee here. I plumb forgot to turn the electricity on!”

 

And the whole of the newly combined gangs of New Edingow laughed, as I came and came and came in stationary orgasm, having orgasms’ orgasms in my deep down pain at my utter degradation and complete and total exhausted bitter shame.

………….

 

Six-months had byed now.

 

I looked forward to the scraps they threw me. I was living now with Hardy and three girls. Hardy was a hung hunk guy.

 

It was mostly potato peelings and carrot-tops and apple cores kinda thing. Lola’s household was all vegetarian.

 

For the first month Lola’d whip me every night to break me. I soon learned, though she never give me orders, that she wanted me squeal, elsen she’d whip me till I did.

 

I still had that leather collar around my neck: the one I mentioned seemed decoration when I’d straddled rail?

 

Lola used it now, when she wanted to show me off. She walked me doggy style, using that collar to tie chain, making me crawl, still with my legs tied double as ‘rear legs’ ya might say, as I padded on my hands and arms as my front ‘feet’ and ‘legs’. I doubt I coulda straightened my real legs in a hurry by then anyways, what with six-months having byed by now with them trussed up tight my thigh tops.

 

I can tell you, I knew new sympathy for ponygirls made lactate too.

 

Lolla’d had had my tits injected like she was gonna ponygirl me? They fed those great-long hypodermo serringos, or whatyacallem, nine-inches deep through the milk-holes in my nips four times a day for a fortnight, and no amount my screaming with the double pain, as they slowly pushed the needles right in, and more slower still, plunged the plungers, to fill my ducts with the hormones needed to make me a milker, was gonna stop them.

 

Lola coulda given me pills to work my balance change for chrissakes. But no, that would take a whole lot longer, and when I had the needles in my tits, Lola could hear my screams inside the house. She liked to hear me hollering when she could not be there herself to watch my tits being needled deep and filled with ‘Double-Action Lactomake’ as I saw on the vets bottles when she drew the fluid up into the hypos:

 

I’d gotten used to the smell by now. When you crawl all day in what makes the smell smell thenya better had get used to it.

 

Hey. Anyway. I’d contributed to it hadn’t I: the smell? Nobody but nobody was gonna take me into the farmhouse and let me use the Jill and the shower.

 

‘Farmhouse’? I ain’t telling this too well if you ain’t gotten that savied.

 

I saw Sheila regular. She was quite the little housewife now. She fed me twice a day. I looked forward to her coming outta the farmhouse. She always looked so fucking gorgeous whatever she wore? I never knowed a girl fill blue-jeans like Sheila and her twin sis could. And the way she and her sis double-bulged their tops was awesome and some. I never knowed her wear a bra neither.

 

She’d throw me scraps special and make me grovel ground for them, as well as lining my trough.

 

I felt so proud to be able to grovel at her dainty little feet. It was such an honour. I longed to dare to look up at her, she was so goddam wonderful in my eyes.

 

She looked teriff. She was no longer a girl. She was a woman, and enjoying Lola giving her a firm hand. She always kept her heavy swingers covered over. I knew where Lola slapped her good and hard, and I knew where Sheila loved being slapped good and hard. Sheila’s tits were slap-happy. I guess she couldn’t getta wet on now, lessen her tits and nips were being slapped and punched.

 

I dared to look up one day and I saw their outline in a summer vest Sheila’s top was testing twice for its retentive tensile strength. It made me salivate to see them. It was just a glimpse, and they were pressed on her body not hanging free, on account of the tight vest. But I heard them ringing music when Sheila was smoothing sunbathing lotion on her Jill-naked bod.

 

Lola’d had them ringed. Sheila had rings in both her nipples and little open-ended bells goin’ ‘ting’ ‘ting’ with the swing of her beauties. I reckon as how she’d gotten a ring through, and a bell dinging down of her clit too.

 

Sheila was so at peace. She was in deep love with Lola. Though Lola’d slap her about to get her rocks off, Sheila would always forgive her, even though she mostly had to hide her heavy bruised-blue breasts. She was such a gentle understanding patient and loving girl.

 

My 36-double-dees hung down as I crawled. They dribbled milk from time to time elsen they fed off me. That’s why I’d been brought to milk. I was feeder.

 

Hardy sired with Amy, Blanche, Candy, Didi, and Elise, and, yea okay, me too. Nah, me with Hardy….

 

I’d been in Lola’s farm this last six months and the screams I let out when they’d injected me to make me produce milk, were nothing to the screams I screamed when Hardy mounted me; lessen he was fillin’ my mouth of course.

 

God he was a big guy. His weight was just massive: and oh cripes his cock! He knew how to please a girl like she’d never been pleased. I was always eager for him to enter my sin and ram home. Oh god it was good! Oh god it was so fucking good, even though I couldn’t feel a frigging thing now, and it was all mental.

……………

 

“Well just look at her, ain’t she the sweetest oinkgirl you could ever wishfer? Her tits are feeding twenty piglets right now, as well as the breed-sows and the boar. And the boar’s a big guy needing a lotta her milk.” Lola explained to an adorable redhead, who appeared to be making Sheila blush.

 

I sensed Sheila had the hots for this neighbouring farmeress who had become a regular visitor: curiously more regular when Lola was away in New Edingow City.

 

“It’s the way it’s done modern. The oinkgirl you can feed on any old scraps: the throwouts from your kitchen? I’ve gotten neighbours keeping pigswill for me, and either me or Sheila’ll fill its trough twice daily…..”

 

“Anyways, the oinkgirl here gets the pigswill to keep it making milk, along with its tits getting a regular sucking of course. And the pigs get its milk. I reckon we get a good four pints daily from each tit, now it’s full lactated.”

 

“The pigs suck it straight from the tit of course, we don’t want no inefficiency like milking it ‘tween times would make fer. No ma’am, straight from the tit was what god gave oinkgirl’s tits for. And just look at the coats on those porkers! That’s what feeding them on pure oinkgirl milk does.”

 

“Still that’s not what you’re here for Mandy. You’re wanting some good seed for the vet to inseminate your new sow, and that’s also what a oinkgirl also does on a modern farm. You’re just gonna hafta get one Mandy: just watch and see.”

 

“We had the oinkgirl’s clit removed and its inner lips cauterised of course, lessen it get pleasure. That way it don’t take the seed in you see. Some have them sewn-up so the boar can only use front-end elsen the asshole. But as long as the cauterising is done expert, so its all numb inside its satan, then it ain’t gonna get no pleasurmerento and the boar can go at it as hot hard and long and often as it likes…..” Lola informed.

 

“…..But if you want the produce from the oinkgirl sucking Hardy’s cock…..”

 

“No thank you Lola. Mummy says that traditional is best. She says it has to have been in the oinkgirl’s twat so as to get her hormones in the mix”, Mandy’s truly sweet Scots accent trilled the air.

 

“Your ma ain’t wrong Mandy.”

 

“Now, do you want to whip the oinkgirl, or shall Sheila do it as usual? You’ll hear it squeal some, but don’t worry none, it ain’t got no real feelings, and it needs to be made squeal and squeak to turn the boar on.”

 

For me, the final final humiliation was to be whipped by Sheila. She didn’t hold back now. The first time she’d caned me, she’d been in tears from her gentle love. Now she was matter-of-fact and knew just where to whip me to make me whelp. She aimed for the soles of my feet and for my anus, and she hit me like she’d forgotten she ever knew me.

 

This time out, I squeaked with agony as her fifth whistling stroke caught me right across my tight tiny rear-buttonhole, and she stepped aside hurried as Hardy ran and rammed his cock into my satan, grunting and punting and rocking me like a runaway train, whilst he stood with his clovens on my blades, and rutted my sin ferocious, pleasure-grunting, as the three girls looked over the walls of the sty in which I now crawled, disinterestedly watching for my fucking to stop, or rather for the boar to pour cum.

 

“Wasn’t she…I mean ‘it’….Wasn’t it once some kinda tec” Mandy sweetly enquired, referring to me.

 

“Yes. I heard Sheila answer. She was NEPD, then a private dick. But hey, my Lola’s got it licensed animal now, so no more ‘she’ please Mandy….”

 

Hardy was giving as many grunts and squeals as I was now, as he rutted me to hell.

 

“Hey, I better get in there, Hardy’s gonna come and I got the flask ready.” Sheila excited, like the sex kitten I still so adored.

 

I totalled on deep shit humiliation and shame as the boar pumped what seemed like gallons of his seed into my devil. I was numbed and could get no sexual pleasure from my sinhole no more, but the deep shit shame mentalled me total orgasm even though I couldn’t no more have even a billionth of a billionth of one for real.

 

After the boar had withdraw, Sheila whipped my right thigh with her cane, and ordered me sit-up-and-beg style, thighs real wide apart. I did as ordered, and she caught Hardy’s fresh hot cum as it dripped outta me, before she lifted the thermos flask, swung her now long blonde hair offa her delicious freckled, and put a screwstopper in to keep the boar’s spunk hot’n fresh.

 

I watched as Sheila handed the flask to the lovely Scot’s redhead. And I saw the ways their hands touched more than and longer than they needed to…”

 

“Come on Mandy. Let’s get this round your place before its gotten cold”, Sheila smiled, her kisser outta sight of Lola, and just a little suggestive firmness seen in her bee-stungs and green-flashing-momentarily-blue-eyed eye-to-eye contact.

 

“Can I thank your piggy first?” says Mandy, seeming excited a bit unnatch, “What’s its name”

 

“Well, ‘Charley’ if you must know”, Sheila answered,

 

“Thank you Charley!” Mandy called to me, “We’ll see this gets to the right place!” she sweeted as she blew me a kiss. And I total realised how lovely her bold sweet kiss-lips were, and what she would soon be drinking hot straight from the flask if she didn’t want Sheila cane her lovely ass no more harder, like was happening round Mandy’s place and beddy-byes room soon.

 

My present duty over, I parted my legs and peed floor some more.

 

Lola, still gazin’ relaxed, rested head in hands, elbows on the pigsty wall, day dreamin’.

 

Lola was looking at me, gloating quietly, enjoying seeing me in bonds I could not break, crawling around naked on all-fours in the shit and piss of her pigsty, covered in mud and excreta, still in fresh pain from Sheila’s recent use of the cane.

 

As she daydreamed, Lola’s eyes said, without her mouth ever needing to, that she was thinking: ‘revenge is such a sweet pleasure’.

 

And me?

 

I was so enjoying Lola’s revenge…

 

The End