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Farewell My Panties
(by
Eve Adorer)
Chapter 4 – Trinity
For a long whiles post my
belle in a bell experience I was deaf as politician, literal not proverbial.
When my vision recovered from the hit it had taken from the vibrations when I
tolled the bell with my body, I could see the lovely lips of my fellow girls
movin’, but I could not hear nothin’ but the still loud
ringin’ in my head. And I was sufferin’ isolation, cos I knew no lip
readin’ skills.
Three months byed from the
weddin’ and, though my hearin’ had recovered, I knew new lonely.
I was hareem. Save for my
nipple-rings and my blonde head bein’ still trimmed pony mane, I seemed to have
been de-ponified permanent.
I wore the ‘three’ yashmaks,
face, tits, and ass, showin’ buns-cleavage Ongerian style. My body was
beautiful depilated, my pubes sculpted love heart. I wiggled around on the
en-pointe ballet-shoes hareem standard.
I’d lost sight of the case I
was supposed employed tec for. I somehowed I’d never see that one-million
Ongerian dollars in my bank account. Merinda was rich; that was for sure. But I
concluded I was prisoner of convenience, it bein’ cheaper to feed me the fresh
fruit and spring water all we hareem girls lived on, than to cough-up that cool
million.
If that wasn’t the ‘Nubian
Nipple’ ruby in Patricia’s naked navel at the nuptials, then I wasn’t a
nymphomaniac.
What had gone down ‘tween
Merinda and Lola to get it back was probably Merinda’s money.
I had a lotta time to think,
and this was my thinkin’. Merinda had come to me with genuine case, but taken
another course when her cover was blown by Lola, or someone close to Lola,
recognisin’ her.
Me: I’d been used as useful.
Volunteered pony, I was intro to Lola when the game was original plan. Now I
was surplus. But Merinda had an eye for the girls, and wanted me pony or hareem
slave for herself. Certainly, she had no intention pay up.
This I
overed and overed in my mind as I waited around in the hareem, bored deep numskull.
I gentled-off the occasional
pretty hand that caressed me as a prelim to havin’ a complete feel of me. It
was a death sentence to make love with the other girls in the hareem.
Nonetheless, the risk was taken, and my nights was
often sleepless with the love-moans from shared beds.
I exercised to work off my
wantin’, ‘ceptin’ it didn’t work none.
My greatest pleasure was to
look out the window at the school opposite. The girls there
was full-grown teens near ready university, and they were real honeys.
Ongerian society knew very
rich and very poor with not much ‘tween to speak of. These schoolgirls were
rich. Many came to school on their own ponygirls. Some had ponygirls tethered
to speed-gigs and drove them wild-wind. All day in a field next the school
buildin’, there was ponygirls roamin’ loose waitin’ for their mistresses’ go
home day ended.
I was fascinated with the
school honeybuns, and one in particular.
So many of
these girls smoked. I hate
smokin’, but they was young and didn’t accept none
that it could harm their health.
She, the schoolbabe I’d
taken to oglin’, was a mixed-race Ongerian. Half-cast white and negress. She’d glorious dark-brunette curls coilin’ her head
wild wonder wander to her delicate shoulders. Sometimes her curls was
shimmerin’ fresh-shower late-school no blow-dryered wet yet.
She’d a face an angel woulda
looked pug compared with: eyes hauntin’ brown, and the pursed lips of a
negress, givin’ her petite mouth a top lip curvin’ up so sensensuously demandin’
of a kiss, it was orgasm just to look at and dream of lickin’ it.
Her complexion
was Asian-Indian-girl brown, and flawlessly smooth fresh.
Her snow-white
school-uniform shirt was long-sleeve buttoned at wrists. Her school tie,
knotted neat at collar, flowed down ‘tween no-bra-needed-nor-worn titanic
teenage-tits scribin’ ‘S.E.X.’ on the insides of her
blouse with Venus’ voluptuous nipples as they bobbed while my heart throbbed
when she even just walked.
Her pleated light-grey
school-uniform skirt looked no more than waist-belt-wide, and was worn low,
soas to fashionably reveal the top cleavage of her half-moon-buns, and was so
short it showed the gusset of her panties fulfilled by the passionate bulge of
her honeyhive fully fillin’ it.
Accordin’ wise, her white
suspender belt was clear seen on her taut belly, and her stockin’ tops, the
tops of her school-regulation white fishnets, were stretched up very vee on her
dolly legs, made look longer, by her black school-regulation 10-inch-heel
lace-up booties.
I could watch her glory from
the hareem’s first storey. The doorway she waited ‘round in was just opposite.
She couldn’t see me, cos of the curtain nets and window grill keepin’ us hareem
girls in purdah.
Sad to say she was a smoker.
I got to study her some cos she lingered for a cigarette afore school.
‘No Smokin’’ was a sign
above school gate, so this honeybun of honeybuns, after puffin’ her pleasure,
would drop her post-smoked cigarette to snuff it under her dainty-dancer’s foot
‘fore she entered school territory.
Before school day start, she
was a hang-around on her mobile phone in the disused doorway of a derelict shop
opposite where I daily eyed her over.
Mobile phone at her ear, and
cigarette ‘tween her lips, she sorta tantalisin’ tangoed, wavin’ her lovely
arms and shapin’ her sensational legs as she spoke animatedly to someone I’d
not guess wrong was her goddam lucky girlfriend, whilst her cigarette ash
dropped sidewalk with her never takin’ it even once outta her lips, and her leavin’
the saltpetre mixed in the tobacco to take care of its stayin’ alight, slow
burnin’.
Fascination of horror, was her leavin’ her cigarette to burn! I’d bite my
lips in fear she would burn hers, but she somehow always timed the take-out of her
smoke for when final school-bell tolled and told her day was start. By then her
cigarette, as if by magic, was exactly down to red-glow near-burn of
filter-tip, all tobacco consumed.
I don’t like see a girl
usin’ tobacco, ‘specially a girl as lovely as this hyper-honey. But I cannot
deny, I found watchin’ the smoke curls slow-swirl-up
from her lips, mega-erotic, and some!
She’d let the smoke casually
seep outta her exquisite lips, just before she’d pull her tiny white lace
panties back up her magnificent thighs again.
Indeed of course, just after
she’d taken the filter-tip-end of the now fully consumed cigarette out of her
cunt.
……………..
Cunt smokin’ was common in
the hareem too. Nights, some of the girls would share a hookah specialled with
a toe-pump they’d lazy to-and fro soas to work the tobacco smoke into their
vestibules.
Legs closed after, they’d
enjoy the smoke insidea them, absorbin’ the nicotine through their sensitive
inner pink a whiles, till the pipe-end was their turn again. Then they’d casual
their love-lips agape: and the smoke, now also scented with their own supreme
aroma, would reluctantly leave their satans, weepin’
as it seeped from their deeps and coiled ceilin’, sighin’.
I’d been offered the hookah
pipe early days hareem, and ignorant how it was meant used, put it to my mouth.
Midst galore giggles, I’d
tasted fresh girl on it, and loved it. Then they showed me how Ongerian girls
preferred take their baccy sailorette style, and I declined more.
……………….
Patricia Campbell was now,
of course, Her Supreme Excellence the Princess Wife in Ordinary Merinda de
Cabot-Ensaya.
Adorable is too inadequate a
word for her.
She was regular in the
hareem. We had, in reflex, all dived floor in the surrendee when she had first
entered. But she had generoused that we need not do the surrendee for her,
‘ceptin when she was walkin’ the regulation three strides before her wife, the
princess herself. When the princess was followin’ her, she’d make a signal so
we knew we had to kiss the ground.
Patricia loved to relax in
the hareem.
One of the reasons she was a
regular visitor there, was for her to take lessons in how to please another
girl: her wife.
Practisin’ a flurry of
flick-licks with her tongue, she would burst into memorably melodic giggles
when she got it wrong.
As she did this exercise for
hours on end, soas to perfect her love-licks, I noticed that her GBI badge no
longer pierced her very long tongue.
I still longed for the
princess herself, but had gone heels-over-head for Patricia when she’d
lightenin’ bolted me with her smile that night in the hareem when she’d been
bathed and re-shaved before bein’ sewn-up.
Patricia’s dark-blue eyes
would flash forget-me-not blue when she caught yours with her smile.
She’d won every heart in the
hareem with her genuine sweetness. She knew every girl’s name there.
‘Every heart’ and ‘every
name’ included mine.
My heart had gone nuclear
meltdown when Patricia’d merely whispered a passin’ “Hi Ima” to me, as she
fragranced by in the casual jeans and tee-shirt she usually wore when hareem
visit.
……………….
It happened
innocent.
Patricia and I were the only
American babes in the palace. It was therefore natural for us to get talkin’.
After all, we both haled from New Edingow, the 51st state of the US
of A.
She was so open and honest
and sweet as she looked at me, hangin’ on my every word as I told her ‘bout my
bein’ in Girl-Control, and how I’d had to spank schoolgirl ass once in a
whiles.
The hareem knew we’d be sat
corner swappin’ yarns, includin’ her days as lead violin in the New Edingow
City Philharmonic. And how she’d met the princess at a concert, and fallen in
love at first sight. But how Merinda had then gone home so she – Patricia – had
decided on adventure and joined the GBI, waitin’ till Merinda was satisfied she
– Patricia – could make the sacrifice required of an Ongerian royal bride.
Merinda was often away on
state duties, so Patricia would hang around we slaves, her slaves even, durin’
long evenin’s, when our duties of cleanin’ cookin’ bed-makin’ and all those
other hotel-type things a palace also needs doin’, were done.
When Merinda was away, the
hareem would relax. When Merinda was at home, sometimes a girl would be chosen
for her bed, or the bed of a guest.
A visit by the American
ambassadoress was the real feared occasion. Merinda knew what “Madame
Thank gee she never had
chance choose me. Soas she didn’t know I was effectively American honeypie girlnapped, I was hidden away on her visits.
It happened
innocent.
There was the usual hubbub
of girls’ voices laughin’ and gigglin’, and me with Patricia in the corner
talkin’ as often usual when Merinda was away.
Then a silence of such eerie
echo fell over the room as each girl there slowly realised that I was kissin’
Patricia full-on her petulantly-protrudin’ mouth, and Patricia was comin’ on to
me like a triple-speed bullet train.
That was the first time I’d
taken the initiative with a girl.
I was just overcome with her
irresistible irresistibility. I kissed Patricia’s hungry mouth because it was
the natural thing to do with a so loveable a lovely girl and a girl I was so in
love with.
When the chatter started
again, it had a hollow falseness to the urgency to find neutrality of subject.
The one thing all the honeys
in the hareem wanted to discuss was avoided, even as Patricia and me was kissin’ with still growin’ passion.
Then, strugglin’
me gently off, Patricia upped and ran outta the room.
The diamonds irremovably
embedded in her nipples had already ripped her blouse when her passion had
raised her nips to hard peaks. This and agony from the fifty stitches sewn
through her clitoris to keep it under control, had reminded her why her
clitoris hood and her cunt had been sewn closed for all eternity, and she was
cryin’ with despair on top of the excruciatin’ pain from within her sewn-up
clit hood.
“You fuckin’ fool! Ima. You are a stupid fuckin’ fool! Goddammit, you can be
executed for even so much as lookin’ at Her Supreme Excellence the Princess
Wife”. This was the stage whisperin’ voice of the mature girl that had sewn
Patricia closed.
“Her Supreme Excellence the
Princess Wife is forbidden territory even for Her Supreme Excellence the
Princess Wife herself.”
“Her Supreme Excellence the
Princess Wife is a forever-virgin. She must be highly skilled in pleasin’ her
wife but must never, never, never ever have sexual pleasure
with others or from her own hand. She is not allowed a single solitary
cum: ever.”
“You’d better hope and pray
you have not ruined Her Supreme Excellence, Ima, and that the princess herself
hears nothin’ of the kiss, or you will suffer the slowest most painful death it
is impossible to imagine”.
I instant slumped corner and
cried.
Patricia never came hareem alone after that. And, after that too before,
she issued an order that henceforth, all hareem girls, without exception, would
perform the surrendee in her presence, and not speak unless and until they were
given the permission of Her Supreme Excellence the Princess Wife or other
Ongerian royal family members.
………………..
Followin’ the kiss, within
an hour of Merinda’s return to the palace, I was dragged outta my bed, hauled
to the stables, pony-shoe-shod and made ponygirl once more.
Next day early mornin’ I was
made ready to pull a sulky.
I’d seen the rich
schoolgirls trottin’ their ponygirls, ridin’ in somethin’ like one of these,
but this one spoke of vastly expensive hand built art and craft. It was
single-seat of course, but that seat, a chair like an automobile’s, was in the
purest of light fawn kid leather.
The frame of this sulky was
lightweight, but seemed to be made from the finest gold. You mighta thought it
must be aluminium somehow coated, but couldn’t be sure.
The wheels were
racin’-bicycle in slimness, with gold hubs and spokes. The vulcanised tyres
were royal mauve. At the back, in an overhang, was a trunk
for whatever the owner might wanta carry. A long cruel leather carriage
whip stood upright with its handle in a tubular holder, waitin’ for the driver.
Instead of a bit across
‘tween my teeth, I was darn near chokin’ on a penis-bit. My gorgeous mouth was
suckin’ on a nine-inch dildo pushed ‘tween my teeth, over my tongue, and down
my throat.
Thank gee, this dildo had a
hole through, so I could breath. Its bottom end stuck outta my lovely lips
formin’ a wider circle makin’ it look like I was sucklin’ on a baby’s dummy.
Straps round the side of my face held it down me. I had been horrified when I
seen it, and they’d hadta hold my nose closed soas to get me to open my mouth
and have it pushed in.
This penis-bit and the
straps holdin’ it hard down my throat so I was gaggin’, was part of my new
style head harness: a new style bridle that went with the sulky it seemed.
Further distress for me came
with the blinders. I’d gotten used to the side blinders, but these new ones
were tubes. I was wearin’ like I’d got goggles on my eyes. They was leather tubes standin’ out three-inches from my face,
and makin’ it soas I could absolutely strictly only see front.
Yes, I was back in a bridle,
but this one was gold: gold but with red letterin’ on the forehead band that
told the world that I was once again ‘Hotcrack’ the ponygirl, and not Ima Dike,
the private eye.
I couldn’t stop my
stable-girls feelin’ for and pinchin’ holda my unstable clitoris, nor the whiny
I let out through the hole in my penis gag, when they clipped a quarter-pound
gold sphere to my clit, so it dangled from my mighty-stretched nub painin’ me
somethin’ grievous.
A saddle-belt was tightened
round my waist like I was to have all my breath squozed outta me. They was
pullin’ it up the notches so far before they found where they wanted the staple
through the hasp hole, they musta squeezed my already waif to a bee’s bee of
only nine or ten-inches, they tightened it so gaspin’ tight.
Down from this saddle, I
could feel two straps danglin’ ‘tween my demi-moons, but could not myself see
that these two straps merged into one, and the one ended in a gold-coloured
strong ring.
The cangue on my shoulders
still held my delicious arms out cruciform, and left my dainty hands danglin’
helpless, my long fingernails bein’ my pride: the nails I’d grown and lovin’ly
carefully girlicured in my bored borin’ days hareem, makin’ my hands look
particularly pretty.
But this cangue had a neck
brace at centre curved so as to bend my neck and force my head, when I was standin’, so far back that I was a lookin’ at the sky. So I
was bid to bend like an upside-downed ‘L’, findin’ thus that my face was flat
forward, and me starin’ straight ahead through my goggle-blinkers.
The cangue and arm-stretch
were also now, the bearers of the hoops through which my gold-decorated leather
tit-reins were fed, before they were clipped to my nipple-rings. This was
‘stead of my mouth-bit havin’ the side-hooped bit this time.
Bent as I was now with my
neck-brace forcin’ my proud head to face forward, I was in the receivin’
position for the single shaft of the sulky. The single cold rolled-gold shaft
of the sulky had its foredestined destiny: my cunt.
They backed me onto it, so
it was through the ring on the hang-down straps ‘tween the cleavage of my buns.
They backed me onto it, and it was slid eighteen-long-inches into my pink,
before two crosspieces were locked horizontally through the shaft, either side
of the danglin’ ring, to hold the shaft up me.
As if I was not in agony
enough, my final harness was a long strong leather strap fastened to a ring at
the back of my bridle headband, and then pulled tight, to force my head upright
even more: pulled tight, before a billhook at its further end, was ‘tween the
shaft holdin’ ring danglers, and hooked into my asshole.
I shifted clip-cloppin’
pained and nervous in my new bound bonds, and did not see, because my blinkers
hid it from me: did not see my stable-girls dive into the surrendee.
My two true loves were
together. Merinda looked regal and assured in a white superbly tailored
businessgirl’s suite. Patricia girlish and feminine in a white blouse with its
sleeves rolled above her elbows, showin’ the fine-gold-down anointin’ her
slender forearms, and a lycra micro that hugged her
beautiful butt but beautifully.
Patricia’s skirt was short
enough to flash a teasin’ pleasin’ hint of the crotch of her white silk
panties. Her dolly legs were caressed by white mid-thigh-high-topped sheer
nylon stockings. These were held up by sumptuous frilly-lace scarlet garters,
tied in huge chocolate-box ribbon bows, saucily at the sides of her perfect thighs.
On Patricia’s delight of
light blonde curls, was a silly ‘beekeeper’s hat’ confection, complete with a
veil in imitation of the net an apiarist would have for protection.
Her lovely little feet were
sloppin’ about in impractical but very flatterin’ fifteen-inch-heeled mules,
givin’ devastatin’ shape to her orgasmically curvy legs.
Patricia was happy giggles
as she held Merinda’s hand, with Merinda leadin’ her, as I now astonish
realised, leadin’ her blindfold to where I waited patiently patently in
harness.
Then Patricia was all
excited tremors as Merinda stood behind her and reached up under Patricia’s
veil, to take off the blinfold.
“Happy birthday my angel!”
whispered Merinda with such clear sincerity of deep love that my heart broke
even as she spoke.
And I saw Patricia’s dark
blue lanterns with black pupils wider than her wide-eyed joy, as she screamed
with happiness at the sight of the gold sulky, clapped her lovely hands, and
wiggle-whirled round to tumble softly into Merinda’s arms.
There she stood on one
divine leg, kickin’ the other up to such an erotically perturbin’ curvation,
that all geometry textbooks needed immediate recall for rewrite for gettin’ the
curve so impossibly wrong.
Kisses, even through the
silly and forgotten veil, showered Merinda’s face with did Patricia, with her
soft bold lips: “Oh my darlin’! I love you, love you, love you, love you, love
yooooou!!” she tease-screeched to a risin’ bubblin’ giggle of shear exultant
happiness, dancin’ her stunnin’ legs in an erotic fandango.
“Happy
birthday angel!” Merinda
repeated, breathtaken astonished and laughin’ with love at her wife’s
forever-virgin’s innocence.
“May I go for a run with it?
Oh please, please, please, please!?”
“Of course you may, you
silly!” Merinda answered, as Patricia giggled at the tease.
Patricia then kissed Merinda
again, claspin’ her hat from makin’ a threat to fall ground a reality, as she
again shaped a raised leg to gasp-makin’ curve of curve of curve’s curves,
while she dandled her mule on her toes, before lettin’ Merinda reluctantly go.
Then, straitnin’ her skirt,
which had slid up to reveal all of her tiny tight wish-wisp silk panties,
Patricia wiggled girl right past me without givin’ me the slightest lightest
look, and took her seat in the sulky, eagerly graspin’ and tautenin’ my
tit-reins.
“Test the reins while I
watch please sweetheart!” Merinda called, with love’s concern for loved’s
safety.
Patricia obediently worked
my reins and thus my size 38E-cup pendulous danglin’ tits fore and back, left
and right, back and fore, right and left, like a peel of silent church bells,
while Merinda watched.
“Yes: they are workin’ fine.
But you drive carefully my darlin’!” Merinda called.
A crack of the whip above my
head, the twice-tug both reins both my tits together, and I knew I was to walk.
And so I walked pullin’ the sulky. And the slidin’ fit of the shaft up my cunt
was already provoke-pokin’ me like a piston’s pushrod.
The strap that dangled in
the valley of my buns, was hangin’ loose like that, soas it held the sulky’s
shaft from comin’ right outta my sheath, but also soas to ensure I was
constantly rodded with the unrelentin’ eighteen-inches, when the cart caught up
with me ‘tween the ‘clips’ and the ‘clops’ of my tiptoed pony-shod ‘clip-clop’
steps.
I was bein’ fully fucked,
and was instantly wetter than Pacific high tide better. And the tubed penis-bit
in my mouth played flute to my breathin’ as my arousal mounted with the unmerciful
full-length shaftin’ bein’ given my satan, so I whinnied with my love of bein’
so cruelly used by my love as she twice-tugged my tits to order me up to the
trot.
And the shaft was shaggin’
my succubus, goin’ in and outta me like an amnesiac with no mind-up-make over
come or go.
And we were outta the far
gates of the palace. And Patricia slowed me to a walk and then: “Whoa Hotcrack!”, with a strong single pull on both my tits as one, to a
stop.
As we waited for a gap in
the traffic, Patricia gently made my left breast go back and forth, back and
forth, back and forth, by pullin’ the tit-rein to wave my breast aft and fore
like an auto’s flashin’ turn indicator, so I knew I was to turn left when there
was a gap in the main-road traffic.
It was a busy hot mornin’
and already that time of day when the teens were makin’ for the local school.
Indeed, most of the traffic
was schoolgirls on their ponygirls, or ridin’ speed-gigs behind ponygirls pullin’
like me.
At a gap in the traffic I
couldn’t know of because of my funnel-blinkers enforcin’ my forward-only tunnel
vision, I felt the both-tits-together double-tug, and walked obediently pullin’
the sulky left into the road. Two-tit-tugs-in-combo again, and I obeyed the
order to trot.
My cunt was bein’ shafted
profoundly soundly relentlessly endlessly, as I clip-cloppped the concrete of
the road. And my heat was risin’ not from any strain at haulin’ my lovely
mistress in the sulky, but from my desire fires: the fires bein’ stoked by the
never-endin’ poke of the shaft within my sin. And I am ‘clip-clop’,
‘clip-clop’, ‘clip-clop’, ‘clip-clop’, ‘clip-clop’, and the shaft is in-out,
in-out, in-out, and I see her on the sidewalk. And she is devastatin’ with her
natural brown complexion. And she is wearin’ a micro-micro today. And I see she
has tied the tails of her white uniform shirt in a bow, tight at the base of
her ribcage, so her beautiful flat belly is bare. And her micro-micro is so
short I watch the displayed cleavage of her half-moons: her beckonin’ brown
buns as they wave a wondrously wonderful wiggle ahead of my way as we come up
behind her bounteous behind. And my eyes compulsively rise the league length of
her white-fishnet stockinged legs, caressin’ the sweet sweep of her firm gentle
feminine muscularity, all the way up from her slim ankles to the mouth-waterin’
curves of her arched calves, to the backs of her knees, to the effortless
strength of her worshippably powerful thighs, to her stockin’ tops veed high
twice each luscious leg by her suspenders, to her suspenders long-stretched and
disapperin’ ‘neath her skirt to reappear on the suspender belt round the wisp
of her whispered waist. And I am whinnyin’ as I realise she’s wearin’ no
panties in summer heat acknwledgin’. And she turns at the sound of my whinny
through my penis-gag. And her shirt is open all buttons bar damned one, left to
dam the escape of her bewitchin’ bosom. And her school tie emphasises the
emphatic dramatic depth of the divine cleavage deeply contrastin’ the
contradictin’ high peaks of her virgin-firm Vesuvian eruptions, with their
hidden rosebud pinnacles prominently profferin’ honeysuckle preliminary to
sweet-milk in time to come from their tight-closed central craters. And I see
her divine face out angelin’ the angels, tumultuously tumbled round with her
brunette curls whirlin’ wild, with a stray over one shy eye, as her
deep-dark-brown soul’s windows note and then ignore me. And I see the passion
provocation of the upper of the acutely cutely curled negress’
lips on her closed kismet-is-to-kiss-me mouth. And I see too with her now bein’
turned toward me and her wearin’ no panties, a hint of the tight inturnin’
softly shinin’ heart burnin’ beauty of the nude lips of this unsullied
immaculate. And I watch the blue-grey plume of smoke slow flowin’ to heaven
from under her hem after her just extinguished cigarette. And that she has just
extinguished, now distinguishes my desire, as I watch the waverin’ smoke that
must be seepin’ from her tight lips after her carefree careless smokin’. And I
glance at her face and her mouth opens minutely momentarily. And I watch that
incredibly sensensual upper lip of her absolutely breathtakin’ly beautiful
mouth. That lip curved up and flat, beacon beckonin’ for a kiss in its own
entirely rightful right. And her face with that oh so goddam
sensensual upper lip curlin’ up to its so damned kissable flatness on her
composed rosebud mouth. That lip that I long to kiss and lick and suck
and nibble. And the smoke risin’ last wisps from her just hidden untouched,
from the spent cigarette she’s just snuffed out with her 10-inch heel. ….
……And, obviously oblivious
to me, as I clip-clop by, cummin’, and cummin’, and cummin’, again, and again….
and again, she, carefree and careless of the devastatin’ impact of her
incalculable beauty, casually catwalks into her school….
……………….
After my latest torture, I
was suddenly lookin’ wide-eyed-astonished at a twenty-year-old mixed-race
angel’s angel, with twirl-curled dark-brown lustrous hair tumblin’ to her
delicate shoulders, her face smilin’ love, her tiny negress’ mouth formin’ the
ultimate natural kiss as, asidin’ a multiple-helix of her curls, that had
wandered over one of her darkest-of-dark-brown eyes, she spoke.
“Hi”, she warm-honeyed
She then paused.
“It’s so hot today”, she
sainted, lowerin’ her lovely eyes coincidentally down at her significantly
magnificent cleavage, as if she were embarrassed, before lookin’ love at me
again.
“It’s so humid….. No wonder
you fell asleep……..”
“I didn’t want to disturb
you”.
Her white camisole like vest
with its low swoopin’ curved neckline showed her cleaved deep cleavaged breasts
provokin’ pokin’ pointin’ proud. It was voluminously filled. Her firm brown bosom
emboldened its material, materially thrustin’ it stretched prominently dually
duly proud. Her nipples’ conical cones were visibly threatenin’ to pop out and
burst into full pink flower. And, by gee, she ‘didn’t want to disturb me’?!
“I didn’t want to disturb
you. But I’ve been here five minutes…. I’m afraid I’ve gotten other
appointments?” she sweetly apologised.
“You seemed to be havin’ a
…. a sort of….. a dream……….”
“I didn’t want to disturb
you”, she repeated, clearly charmin’ly embarrassed.
Her blue-denim skirt was
torn off ragged at the hem, and the hem, no more than just beyond eclipsin’ her
heavenly brown moons. Her black-nylon stockinged dolly-girl’s legs were
god’s-gasp shapely. Her suspenders were visible below her hem.
Was she or wasn’t she? Is
she or isn’t she? Be she, or be she not?
Her
curved-curves-contour-clingin’ skirt revealed no visible-panty-line. It was
also tight-lipped about whether it was true, as I sensed,
that her sweetmeat was depilated silk-smooth.
“We called ahead……..”
“I’m from the GBI?……..”
“It was arranged we…. I mean I… that I call in …….”
“We spoke on the phone
yesterday….. About the ‘Nubian Nipple’ case?”
“Hi ………”
She held out the prettiest
of delicate right hands for me to greetin’ shake…….
As she did so, the left
shoulder strap of the vest of this honey of honeys, slipped down her
golden-brown upper arm, promisin’ to let wild one of her wonderfully wanderin’
breasts.
She made no attempt to
replace the strap. She was a nature-girl, sorta fallin’ outta her clothes, like
she was more at home naked on a bed that clothed instead.
…….”I’m Patricia Merinda
……Agent Merinda of the GBI?”
The angel’s angel lowered
her lovely proffered handshake-hand, and blushed.
I looked: at her goddam
gorgeous mouth, and at the bold curved-up-to-flatness prominence of her
sensensual upper lip, and just knew, as she clearly did too, who’d inspired my
half-awake subliminal imagination, and exactly why my panties were soaked beyond
saturation by the rush-gush of love-honey from my just-now wet-dream multi-cum
explosions.
….And in her vest’s breast
pocket, her vest filled by her queen-size bosom, snuggled her lighter …..
……. her lighter: and an
opened packet of king-size filter-tipped cigarettes….
The End
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