Farewell My Panties

(by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 1 – Tangle

New Edingow City, New Edingow State, USA, sometime when…..

A night out comes rare for busy cops. But we hadda community goin’ down the precinct and we would take in a beer and a strip-joint whenever we could get it together.

The chick on stage was teriff. She had brown eyes, petit nose, a stardust of freckles, generous lips, and a look that said ‘I’m beautiful’ and told no more than truth too.

She was up on her tiptop-tiptoe full time in pirouette booties with toecaps squared, so she didn’t never put her goddam dainty feet flat ground. She musta trained some classic ballet judgin’ by her legs, and did she have legs and how and wow!

The honey swung her buns as her middle swivelled wicked wand wave, her ass messagin’ morse for a spankin’ and remorse’s kisses when you’d blacked and blued it with the firm hand it was beggin’ for.

Up top she was thirty-eight-DD and they were as natural as nature as they went their own ways with her inspirational gyratin’. They was pulsin’ pumpin’ and near poppin’ from her quarter-cup bra.

She had the face of an angel, black hair up ponytail and waftin’ whirled wide like a whip, as she waved her head side-to-side pretend robot, while the rest of her stunnin’ body jigged dance crazy under it, her legs steppin’ a stomp so wickedly fast that they were just a shapely blur, as she forwarded and backwarded on the stage, and then spun on one toe-tip to give us a generous of the rear of her doin’ the same, like she had itchin’ powder in her beelzebub.

Her mom musta mated with a bee too, cos she was a honey with a trim waist that shimmied like earth tremor as she next gave us belly dance seven veils style, but in tiny panties and a tinier skirt modern wise.

Then she wrapped her goddam gorgeous right leg around the dance pole and control-slid slow to ground, felatin’ the shiny steel upright from top her reach, to base, with an eager tongue like it was Casanova’s supernova erection eruption.

She’d been a nervous starter. They’d put her on first. She was new the joint, and new to the strip game altogether.

We gave her the encouragin’ rhythmic-handclap. Startin’ gentle to see we didn’t upset her none, and beatin’ rapider and louder as we saw her smile and that she was just lovin’ the attention we was givin’ her as she stomped devil dervish, shakin’ all she’d got and showin’ she’d got the lot as she danced to a steel-band oil-drums poundin’ sound, played eardrum-burst loud through the massive speakers.

And we shouted for her to ‘get them off’ so we could remind us again how god had blessed the world with her finest creation. And she de-brared to let her top go wild then whisked offa side-tied G-string to show us she was a shaved babe, before she dropped her micro-mini ground, and dance-skipped offa the stage, turnin’, still tiptoe, on her goddam beautiful legs shufflin’ tiny steppy-steps backwards, to blow genuine kiss, like our clappin’ and cheerin’ and wolf-whistles had wetted her up for a go, judgin’ by her nips.

And then she came back on, in nothin’ but her booties and did a sideways splits slidin’ herself like velvet down to the stage with her feet outstretched 9.15 and 3.45 like only the fittest chick would find possible as she waved her arms graceful wand windmill, and touched her booties’ toes in turn with her fingertips, and then raised herself up with only her goddam gorgeous leg muscles, only to lower herself down once more, but this time in a 6.00 and midnight splits, with her shy smile as wide as it musta opened her beelzebub when she’d done the sideways.

Then she lifted herself up again with her strong legs alone, took a bow, face away from us, and shimmied her legs wider and wider apart usin’ her fingers to show us her eager pink: turned lickin’ her lips to show us what she wanted done in her satan, took up her right tit and licked and sucked her nipple to attention, and then ran off stage once again, blowin’ multi-kisses off of her damned pretty fingertips, to a house bring-down of applause and whistles wolf and wow and cheers and shoutin’ and stompin’ as had never ever before been heard for any girl in Letme O’Lick’s strip joint afore.

The next girl had an impossible follow to act, so whilst my gaggle called for more beer, I went dressin’ room to talk to Lindy-Lou, the babe that had just stripped for us all.

I tapped door light.

“Come in” came Lindy-Lou’s slight southern drawl.

As I entered, Lindy-Lou was dressin’ gown ready shower. Rushin’ to me, she was swift puttin’ her arms around me, kissin’ my cheek and layin’ her head on my heart, sighin’ love.

“I didn’t think I could do it. I thought it would be so darned demeanin’? I didn’t think I could strip off in fronta all you girls like that”, Lindy-Lou gushed with her excitement at her achievement.

“Honey, you were sensational!” I soothed, as I looked down at her now bare feet and saw there the evidence I had expected to find.

“Lindy-Lou Loveskiss, you have the right to remain silent…” I routined as Lindy-Lou now stood back, shocked, her oh so kissable lips moist and demandin’ even when her eyes showed her fear as I Miranderised her.

She was so stunned she made no protest as my colleagues came in, stripped her, girlcuffed her wrists behind, so her damned pretty hands rested on her gorgeous ass, put a bit in her mouth, fastened pony irons back onto her big toes, and led her on a rein, ‘clip-clop’, to be shipped back to the farm she had escaped.

I was on undercover. Lindy-Lou was my third returned escapee that month. She’d been given three-years hard for bein’ street drunk first day of college.

She was a great kid with bad timin’. Society had decided it was clampdown time naughty girls wise. She’d been caught in the park kissin’ her girlfriend just like happens everyday normaltown. Only she’d been underage drinkin’, celebratin’ havin’ got to college. She walked the straight line to test she wasn’t no real drunk, but she failed the blow-in breathalyser test? She’d gotten three-years hard ponygirl for gigglin’ durin’ that.

I’d finally knowed Lindy-Lou was ponygirl for sure when I’d seen the marks on her big toes where the shoe-irons had gripped her.

Escaped farm ponygirls always rated numbers this time a year. It was comin’ up ploughin’ season.

No honey doin’ ponygirl could getta steady paid job. They didn’t no more have the proper papers. No job that is, lessen it was somethin’ like what Lindy-Lou had been doin’: strippin’ for the girls.

I felt sorry for her of course. But I gotta tip from the dame that owned the strip-joint that she had a new girl without docs come the ‘I’m desperate for money’ routine.

These strip clubs don’t want no trouble. It had to be checked out. What better than for me and my back-up team to be able to combine pleasure with business, the way it had gone tonight.

………………

Next day I was due stationhouse back in uniform. I’d showered and was inspectin’ my bod. I gymnasium seven times a week, but I don’t want no muscle that don’t look fem.

I’d always wanted ballet when I was a kid. I’d done the exercises alongside bar till I was a mid-teen, hopin’ to prima. I ballet-exercise daily still. I got the legs to show for it.

I never made prima ballet because I filled out too big on top and behind. I got to be too damned hourglass. A fully-natural thirty-eight-E-Cup around the top, and a matchin’ thirty-eight below. In between you can belief eighteen, because it’s true. 38E-18-38 is one hell of a chick: I’m one hell of a chick. You better believe it!

I finished mornin’ exercise by standin’ en-pointe left leg, and swingin’ my right leg up behind to touch my right shoulder blade with my pointed foot. Then I did ditto left leg standin’ right foot.

Now standin’ back to the ballet bar and still en-pointe, I kicked my right leg straight up and put my pointed-sky foot behind my ear and held it there count-twenty. I then switched legs, doin’ the same left leg and left ear. It was tough to do this without bendin’ at the knee with the grounded leg, tougher still to do it remainin’ en-pointe on the grounded leg. But I did ten with each of my legs and made shower feelin’ just great.

Earlier, I’d done three-miles runnin’ rollin’ road, and another five on stationary-cycle. After shift I’d go swim some.

Outta the shower I looked mirror and admired what I seen. I ain’t a vain dame, but a girl knows when she’s a looker, and I’m a looker. I got short-trimmed genuine blonde hair, hazel eyes in deep-set sockets, the highest of high cheekbones, and a generous wide mouth. The girls say I look haughty ‘ceptin’ when I smile, and then I look even more goddam gorgeous ‘specially with my eyes still showin’ my shyness. I smile a lot. I don’t wanta have the chicks think I ain’t approachable.

I got nipples like car-stoplights, with huge round pink aureole, like I had two more beautiful eyes a starin’ at you. The cutest ass, with my butt cheeks hollow-side-dimpled and taut with the stretchin’ of my gorgeous legs in tiptoe-booties. And I could go to a hornet’s weddin’ and not look outta place, my waist is so slim. And too, I got a wasp’s wiggle on me when I walk.

Despite the bod and the face and the sweet smile though, I’ve never been too lucky in love.

So, hey, I hadn’t ever had a steady girlfriend, let alone a lover-girl; but I had my career didn’t I?

Hair blow-dried ‘n brushed to a shine, it was time to dress.

Summer uniform is a short-sleeve shirt, light-blue of course, that buttons up front and has my service number: “38E1838” on both of my collar wings. I’m allowed to leave the top buttons undone in summer heat.

I’m not allowed a bra. Come to that, I’m not allowed a skirt neither.

Only a lieutenant and above is allowed a skirt, so my shirt has to make like a dress? Only it ain’t gonna hide that I’m a girl, lessen I wear my standard-issue light-blue thong.

Still, I suppose my shirt’s hem still comes halfway down my butt even when it’s pulled up offa me some, by my waist-belt.

Light-blue suspenders stretchin’ well below my shirt’s hem, hold up my light-blue stockings. I wear light-brown-leather steel-soled booties with no heel at the back. Instead they have a heel at the front so I can get ground purchase if’n I’m inna a shootout scenario. Otherwise I’m up constant-skyscraper-legged-tiptoe, wigglin’ pirouette on the squared-off toe-ends of my booties as I natural girl-gait swivel-walk.

From my belt at the back bouncin’ on my sassy ass when I walk, dangle ready for deploy, are a setta girlacles, my pepper-spray, and a penis-gag, with space for a bag of tampons for when I’m on my monthly.

Clipped fronta my belt is my twelve-inch vibratin’-dildo-truncheon right side, along with my coiled rope lasso: and, left side, my school-style curved-handled cane, my WAP computer radio, and a ready choke-chain bitch-collar with its coiled up leash.

Holstered on my right thigh, fastened to a dark-blue garter round my stockin’ top, at top, and to a dark-blue string at the holster’s base, around my gorgeous leg just above my dimpled knee, is my loaded tranquilliser-dart pistol. Fastened to the dark-blue garter round my equally shapely outside left thigh, is my New Edingow Police Department shield-shaped gold-coloured metal warrant badge.

I put on my dark-blue baseball cap, and inspect myself in my full-length mirror. I’m about to go foot-patrol and wanna be sure I’m a credit to the service.

We got back on foot patrol regular when the petroleum gas finally ran out: for all bar the rich, the railways, and government limos of course.

Gasoline oil is rare and darned expensive. Most the world’s economy now runs on girl-power. Cities are lit by the beautiful legs of thousands of girls pedalling dynamo 24/7 in huge power-houses. Most transport is ponygirl. Ponygirls plough farm springtide and pull reaper at harvest-time. Fields are spread with girlnure – girls’ droppin’s bein’ full of motherin’ hormones, make for superb growth.

Methane from girlnure provides the heatin’ for the intensive farms, where girls are encaged engaged producin’ girlmilk from which girlbutter and girlcheese are manufactured. The girl-wine on your supermarket shelf, will have come from girls, fed only on grapes and distilled water, so as to fragrance and flavour their pee for the bottle. If you are rich class, shoeshine girls lick your shoes clean for you, and kit you out with that smart citygirl suite. Girls drill roads and build skyscraper, sew and knit, and weld as well.

I put on my cap with its peak out straight front. Then I check the mirror for the name on the metal star pinned to my shirt just above my swayin’ left breast’s firm pointy nipple-centre.

Along with the also reversed repeat of my service number, I reads in the mirror: “EKID”.

The right way round this gives the general public my surname.

The band on my hat also tells it like it is. It reads in my mirror: “noisiviD lortnoC-lriG eciloP”

I’m a street patrol foot beat officer in the Girl-Control Division of the New Edingow City Police Department.

I’m a 20-year-old Girl-Control copette – full name Ima……. Ima Dike.

……………

I walked wiggle, wendin’ my way street, passin’ first the local school, where the girls would curtsey courteous in fronta me, and then wolf-whistle my swayin’ ass as I tiptop-tiptoe-sway by.

I never minded this none. I may be a copette, and upholder of the girl-laws, but I’m also a doll dame and a doll dame who appreciates bein’ appreciated for bein’ a doll dame.

Sure one time I’d hadta take a holda one of these cuties, pull her knickers down, bend her over my damned gorgeous thighs and spank her bare butt on the spot.

Young girls need a firm hand if’n they ain’t gonna go astray none. And I’m a Girl-Control copette. Spankin’ schoolgirl-butt is onea my duties.

This particular chick had snuck up behind of me and lifted the hem of my shirt so she and her friends could see some more of my cute buns. I coulda larruped her with my cane for that; but let her off with a caution and an on-the-spot slappin’.

Hey, she was just a teenage girl bein’ a teenage girl, gettin’ off on an older woman’s body. I never knowed one of these teenagers who didn’t say ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you Ms Dike’ after I’d slapped her pretty little butt some.

……………..

My walk to the station house had a shortcut through the park, so I swayed my half-bare ass that way feelin’ the heat of the early mornin’ sun on the supreme dream cream smooth softness of my exposed body.

Across the path I’m greeted with a “Good mornin’ officer”, like to make me real proud of my profession? It was genuine respect for what Girl-Control was a doin’ of to make the streets safer for respectable women. I liked that.

I swayed on some more, with my bare ass cheeks a risin’ and a fallin’ and my tits swingin’ fascinatin’-ding-dong as I step ballet with one foot down right in fronta the other like a girl should walk, just as I was teached in deportment classes when I was school.

Just now down the path I sees a lady walkin’ her bitch. The bitch is a girl havin’ her ankles tied to her thighs so she has to walk with her hands as her front paws and her knees as her rear paws? She has a dog collar around her slender neck, and is on the end of a controllin’ leash.

Even as I saunter-sway my mesmerisin’ ass over, the lady’s bitch has parted her just so gorgeous thighs and is peein’ the grass.

“Scuse me lady” I intro’d, “Did I see you letya bitch pee the grass just now, or did I see you letya bitch pee the grass just now?” I leadin’ questioned.

“I’m sorry officer. I wasn’t payin’ attention,” a lady I recognised as the Scottish Ambassadoress’ wife smoothed.

“I’m sorry too lady, but New Edingow’s gotten laws about bitches peein’ in the park or in the street. Besides-wise, it’s a waste of good wine to let it pour to ground like that,” I made firm.

“This here’s a whippin’ offence”, I reminded.

“You’ve been very observant, and are bein’ very efficient officeress. But could you not turn a blind eye just this once?” the Scottish Ambassadoress’ wife pleads.

“No way ma’am” I no way ma’amed her. “My clit’s on the choppin’ block if’n I don’t do my job right”, I affirmed.

As I reached to look at the bitch’s name and licence number on the metal tag clipped through her ear, I get wolf-whistles and ‘wows’ when I bend over straight legged flashin’ full bare ass and havin’ my heavy 38Es gravely answer the call of gravity, as my love-pouch filled panty’s crotch is pullin’ tight, showin’ the outline of the lips of my pink-silk-lined succubus.

A copette is there to make the city beautiful as well as uphold the law. I was only too pleased that my gorgeous buns and my heavy breasts and the outline of my beelzebub’s lips were turnin’ on the girls passin’ us by on their ways to work.

“We can see your bummy: we can see your bummy”, called a crowd of teenage schoolgirls as they ogled my beelzebub’s-purse pouchin’ the crotch of my light-blue copette’s thong as I rose and stood, legs slightly parted, to use my radio as a WAP computer.

“Lettin’ a bitch pee the walkways is punishable by on-the-spot ticket and standard sentence, but you have the right to opt for trial. If you opt for trial and are found negatively innocent, the punishment will be doubled”, I formally informed.

“My duties as a copette do not include givin’ advice. I can therefore only tell you that this ticket I am about to adhere to your bitches butt, confirms the standard punishment as six cane strokes, three on each.”

“You have to take your bitch to the station to have it nipple-whipped within the next five days, unless you lodge a ‘go-trial’ before then”, I concluded.

“All I can say is ‘thank you’ officer”, the Scottish Ambassadoress’ wife says to me, as I saluted and she watched my right breast liftin’ my shirt even more prominently bulgin’.

I now continued to glide-sway my way to the precinct house, but the lady calls from behind me: “Officer: you are one hell of a beautiful woman!”

“Why: thank you ma’am” I answered, pleased to have served police and pleased.

……………

As I arrived stationhouse, the other copettes applauded me and shouted their congrats for my part in findin’ Lindy-Lou Loveskiss, and returnin’ her to finish sentence?

I felt real proud, and prouder still when Captainess Ophelia Snatch patted my right ass cheek and told me a: “Well done Ima. You’re a good copette, and you got the makin’s of a great copette!”

Then she added: “See you my office in five, please Ima.”

I was in the captainess’ office in four and standin’ to attention, till she waved me sit down.

Then I felt her eyes assessin’ and appreciatin’ my shapely legs as my shirt’s hem slow rises right up to display all my magnificent thighs, with my stockin’ tops half mast, stretched to long vees by my suspenders, and my silk-soft-firm bare flesh above my stockin’ tops up to the edges of my tiny thong, glowin’ sorta tactile-invitational.

I looks down and runs my right forefinger gently along my silk-soft-firm above-stockin’-top bareness, and then give the captainess the full two-barrels of my lovely hazel eyes, with my pitch-black pupils huge kaleidoscopic-suction-whirlpools, a tellin’ her it’s okay for her to explore me if’n she wants to.

“I got a job for you Ima,” says Captainess Snatch, managin’ to take her eyes offa my supremely caressable bare thigh flesh for a few seconds.

“It needs a volunteer. It’s a tough assignment for a young and inexperienced copette like you. But you did so well with the Lindy-Lou Loveskiss return of escapee case, that I think you got what it takes for this one.”

“Thank you ma’am …..” I began, real excited….

“Hold hard Ima. You’ll want to think about this. It’s another undercover job. You and your background team did a great job with Lindy-Lou. I’m puttin’ the whole of Girl-Control down for a reward bonus, and you for the gold garter medallion.

I was blushin’ flushed with the excitement of the honour of winnin’ a high achieve top-notch gold garter medal. Not bronze, not silver, but gold, and after only one-year as a copette. And I imagined the presentation ceremony with the mayoress slidin’ the reward garter up my swervy-curvy left leg to just above my dimpled knee, below my copette’s warrant badge, as the Chiefette of police, my fellow copettes, and my mom, and my three sisters would be cheerin’, and me so darned proud!

My concentration doubled now though, as the captainess said, not with even a hinta joke, that she’d put me in for the gold thong to go with the gold garter if I succeeded in the mission she had for me next.

At mention of a prospective gold thong, I was instantly soberised.

No copette had yet gotten to wear the coveted gold panties lessen posthumously before now.

Only one copette had gotten to wear her reward gold thong and gold garter medallion out street, and she’d been killed in a shootout with girlnappers.

That had been only the week after she’d depilated triangle ‘specially, so as to look her best at the public presentation.

I was applaudin’ her at the ceremony when she had had her standard light-blue copette’s panties ceremoniously lowered down her legs by the state governoress, and stepped outta them forever.

And then she was a salutin’ with her heart pumpin’ so damned proud whilst the governoress was easin’ the gold thong up her gorgeous thighs as the band played “God Bless America”?!

Now her gold thong and her gold garter medallion, accompanied by her name star, are in a glass topped case in the Hall of Honour at the National Copette Museum, in DC.

“This is a big ask Ima. It ain’t no fault of you or your support, but Lindy-Lou didn’t get back to her mistress. Girlnappin’ has broken out again big time. The GBI and GIA suspect the Russian mafia.”

“Used to be that Russia and its former empire had loads of surplus girls to export. Now their economy has outstripped the US of A’s, they’re keepin’ all their own girls to work pony and drill for oil, and mine coal. There’s now a massive shortage of girlpower in Russia, China and the whole of Africa, and big rewards on offer for girls from Europe, Japan, Australia and the USA to make up the shortfall.”

“In Russia and China, American chicks are highly prized in a sorta hangover of revenge for the old cold-war years. The fashionable Russian woman wants an American ponygirl and several more tied up bitch to parade in their central parks.”

“That’s where you come in Ima. If you volunteer, your assignment will be to go to that strip joint where you picked up Lindy-Lou. They have back rooms there where the girls perform specialities for high rollin’ clients. Lindy-Lou did some real special wrestlin’ apparently.”

“The chief suspect is Feelinsideskia Clitoriskia. Clitoriskia only goes for the best lookin’ dames. You’re knockout Ima. She’d go for you big time. She likes to watch the real special wrestlin’.”

“If you volunteer you’ll do a performance for her and then be abducted to be trained pony. So we can follow the trail and gather convincin’ evidence, you might have to go along with that. But don’t worry none kid, we won’t letya out of the country, and we’ll whup Clitoriskia’s ass if she tries it on that far.”

“Do I got myself a volunteer?” Captainess Ophelia Snatch conclude-queried.

“Yes ma’am” I confirmed as I rose to my tiptoed feet and made the copette solute, standin’ to attention with the right of my two darned pretty hands pressed to my chest middle above my breasts to show that I gave my whole body to the copette service.

……………

Rumour had it that Clitoriskia and her bevy of beauties was back in town. She was a creature of routine, and would play roulette till the early hours, before comin’ to a strip joint for some ‘tainment.

Letme O’Lick was just now lookin’ after me, and preparin’ me for an all-girl nude wrestlin’ match such as Feelinsideskia Clitoriskia was known to enjoy. And Letme tells me that my opponent was restin’ up right then.

My opponent was to be Anna, the club’s resident nude-wrestler. Letme advised that Anna was highly skilled, and was rewarded with pet mice.

I was sure I was fit enough for any opponent who didn’t outsize my 5-foot 7-inches overly, and a girl who was such a sweetie as to collect cute pet mice sounded a pushover.

Of course I knew the wrestlin’ was supposed to turn me and my opponent on. That would be no problem for me. I was always a very tactile babe.

“Anna just loves to give head”, Letme confirmed, as she applied foam to the curly blonde triangle between my legs, “So watch she doesn’t wrestle you to where she can lick you out!” Letme warned.

“We’ll give it a shave, and then depilatin’ cream so you look real smooth” Letme then said, as much to herself as to me, as she got intricate and intimate with a safety razor where she’d sprayed self-heatin’ shavin’ foam.

“This is a very personal question Ima, and there ain’t no way to put it polite….” She said next.

I didn’t know what she was goin’ to come out with, and I blushed redder that a beetroot when she did, straight out and no messin’.

“Are you still intact?” asks Letme.

I blustered, even though it ain’t easy when you got your legs straddled and an older doll whiskin’ the suds off the razor, and your just shaved-off pubes with it, into a shavin’ bowl, before she comes back, tongue-tip outta the corner of her red-lipsticked mouth to help her concentration, as she shaves your ‘tween legs coot-bald some more.

“I’ve had loads of girls. I’ve been goin’ with girls since I was at school. I’ve had no end….” I struggled to convince.

“Oh so ‘you’ve had no end’ then?” Letme answered like she was teasin’, cos she was.

“Captainess Snatch said she was pretty sure you were a virgin. She says you don’t have a steady girl and your so damned gorgeous none of your fellow copettes dare ask you for a date, cos they think you must be already spoken for.”

I blushed, and felt tears of embarrassment corner my gentle hazel eyes as I heard this.

“It’s a tough ask for a young copette, and we did the dirty on you darlin’. We had to be sure to get Clitoriskia here tonight. She’ll often come unannounced to watch some intimate girl-girl nude wrestlin’. But we wanted to be certain sure she’d not give us a miss, by passin’ word to her there was a girl takin’ part who’s not yet earned her pubes.”

“That’s why I’m a shavin’ it for you. Clitoriskia will want to see you marked out as the virgin, knowin’ you are fightin’ not to get your hymen snipped.”

“If’n you lose the wrestle, Ima, Clitoriskia may expect to give thumbs up or thumbs down like it was Roman gladiator times. And if’n it’s thumbs down for you darlin’ she’ll want to see your opponent pop your cherry right then and there.”

“So you have a real good incentive to win the fight Ima, lessen you wanna have ya stretch snapped”, Letme affirmed.

I gotta be honest. I was blushin’ real deep when Letme was tellin’ me this, cos I was wet with more than just the shavin’ foam.

And it’s like Letme knows I’m wetted and whetted and despite that, or because of that, when she was finished shavin’ it, and is readyin’ to cream it full smooth, she kissed me on my forehead and tells me I is: “a beautiful angel”.

I was really gonna tell her some after that, includin’ that I was no angel; I was a tough copette; but I just blushed more and deeper still instead.

……………

It was so darned hot and jungle-humid in that side room where I was to wrestle on the mattress on the floor. I stood around deeply embarrassed in front of an audience before which I needed to act the experienced stripper, disguisin’ I was really a copette? and I was totally failin’ the Oscar.

I was naked as nature already, so I was not expected to strip.

In fact I was nakeder than before, and it felt real weird and real nice not havin’ my triangle, and my satan bein’ total smooth too. It made me feel clean and pure.

The lights were borin’ down on me addin’ to the heat and humidity? And I could see nothin’ behind o’ them, though I heard wolf-whistles and a foreign, like a Rusky accent, say how I was an astoundin’ beauty and how Letme O’Lick had done a great job choosin’ me.

And I’m just thinkin’ that ‘choosin’’ is an odd word to use, when it all begins to happen, with real loud music that I instantly recognised as that I danced gym to at home, and the lights goin’ out, and I’m standin’ facin’ out with my back to a plinth one side of which suddenly becomes a screen.

And their projectin’ video of me in my apartment exercisin’ ballet to the beat of the same music playin’ here and now through the club’s speakers.

And the audience is whistlin’ and jeerin’ and sayin’ all kinds of crude ‘n rude things they’d like to do to me, as they watch me on screen, bendin’ my right leg back behind me and touchin’ my shoulder blade with my toes, and then kickin’ that leg straight up in fronta me so as my ankle is level my chin, and holdin’ it up there without aid of my hands, and then doin’ same with my left leg.

And I was dyin’ with embarrassment and a wonderin’ who wired my apartment, as they show me now on screen completely nude in my shower and fingerin’ my nub till I scream with a cum as the water runs offa my goddam lovely body like I’m a sea spume soaked naked sailorette.

And I’m feelin’ soiled by the shouts about my body, as I feel a cool tap on my shoulder outta nowheres as if someone had been sittin’ on the plinth? And I’m thinkin’ this must be my opponent for the nude wrestle, cos Anna’s made a no-show till now.

And I turn, blinded by the lights and deafened by the music and the audience a cheerin’ at somethin’. And I realise too late I got this giant snake windin’ itself rapid round my neck, coilin’ offa the plinth I’d been leanin’ against in my shame as they showed me on video bein’ naughty with my clit.

And I scream with horror and my pretty hands are useless to fight it off. And an announcer on the club’s speakers says: “We’ve seen the stunnin’ Ms Ima Dike gymnasium some, and now the staggerin’ly beautiful copette is gonna naked-wrestle Ms Anna Conda!!”

And the audience cheer and I’m down on my haunches showin’ my thighs big bold and damned beautiful as I next go to kneel, and I’m bein’ slow strangled by a massive anaconda snake that is tighter round my neck by each tock of the clock.

And I’m fightin’ with my dainty hands to tear the snake offa me, as my eyes are poppin’ and my tongue lollin’ as she slowly throttles my windpipe. And I tumble backwards a coughin’ and chokin’ and a wheezin’ and a beggin’ with my eyes. Only Anna has now gotten me lyin’ flat on my butt and back, and she’s beginnin’ to put her head in the deep valley between my tits.

And I’m so relieved as she loosens her grip on my windpipe, that I begin to cry. And I’m still petrified as Anna slow glides the grand canyon between my mountains, till at very long last her tail-end brushes my mouth, and I realise I gotta get up and run.

And I rise to squat on my supremely shapely haunches. And there are voices in the audience takin’ my side in the wrestle, and callin’ “Run Ima”, “Run darlin’ ”. And I recognise the voices of some copettes from my station house. And I realise they are doin’ nothin’ to rescue me, and that everybody there knows I’m a copette after that announcement on the speakers.

And I stand to run from the anaconda, but it has me wrapped tight around my ankles and I fall flat on my back on the mattress. And I watch with horror as it keeps my ankles tied with its wrap.

And it’s slitherin’ up me real slow, so slow, windin’ itself around my beautiful right leg. And it slow, so slow, slides itself above my knee, and slow, so slow, oh so slow, it’s wrappin’ around my thigh. And slow, so slow, so slow, oh so slow, its head appears between my powerful thighs.

And I grab it’s neck in both my pretty little hands. But it’s a whole lot stronger than me. And I watch with horror on horror as its forked tongue flicks in and out and flickers in the air a sniffin’ the girlscent from the tight-shut shaven and imaculately-smooth moonlight reflectin’ gentle lips of my succubus.

And I wrestle it with my lovely hands to hold it back.

And then I scream and scream and scream, as the anaconda’s head is dived into partin’ my lips, and she ain’t stoppin’ as she flows inta my devil and I can’t escape cos she’s got my ankles tied-rope still with her tail end. And she’s way too strong for my little hands.

And I fight to pull her outta me. And I scream as I feel her jaws open within my tightness and again and louder with terrible pain as somethin’ snaps slap within me when Anna bursts my drum. And I’m bleedin’ all over the mattress and as the audience lets outta whoop and jeers, I’m screamin’ still with the pain of bein’ deflowered.

And the woman on the public address is givin’ the technical data: “Anna Conda has been trained to find dead mice secreted in tight moist warm pockets. A mere mouse is but a snack for Anna of course, but she’ll go all the way in and some more to find such a tasty morsel.”

“And when there isn’t actually a dead mouse meal in there, she ain’t gonna know that, and will go even further in still, to search with her flickerin’ tongue and the openin’ and closin’ of her jaws, lookin’ for that promised chance for a tasty bite…”

And to prove it true, Anna is workin’ herself deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper into my beelzebub. And I feel her tongue flickin’ and her jaws open and close and I’m suddenly wettin’ up like a June monsoon.

And I’m cryin’ out with the pain of joy and the joy of pain as Anna is still writhin’ and wrigglin’ deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper into my sluice.

And I cum. I buck like a snake myself, as if’n I’m in a fit, or as if’n I’d been shotgun-pelleted both barrels in my butt, and I scream and holler and I cum and cum, as Anna is workin’ herself deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper into my beelzebub. And I’m gaspin’ and my mouth is open as my eyes roll up to heaven with a cum and I’m moanin’ with surrender with my mouth invitin’ Anna to go right through me and slither out over my tongue I’m so wishin’, as I cum and cum and cum and Anna goes deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper and I feel her flickin’ tongue and her jaw openin’ real wide inside me. And I scream and scream and scream and swivel my head side-to-side wild like I was noing a yes to what was happenin’ as I cum and cum and cum and cum as Anna reaches my very soul.

And the audience is a shoutin’ and a stompin’ and my fellow copettes are clappin’ and cheerin’ and jeerin; as I nearly faint with exhaustion from my pleasure as peristaltic waves in my succubus cease: and I have Anna’s head squeezed tighter and harder than when she was stranglin’ my neck. And I’m in love-muscle-lock.

My satin-sluice’s muscles are cramped excruciatingly tight and agonisingly pleasurable painfully for me. And Anna is fightin’ for my cunt not to crush her? And she is openin’ and closin’ her jaw the little she can with my cramp-clamp-grip beelzebub’s sidewalls crushin’ her. And she is fightin’ to withdraw from my mailbox and my legs are free and I stagger to my feet with the anaconda still deep and double-deep’s-deep within my mailbox.

And Anna’s now loose tail begins to whisk in her fight for my cunt not to crush-kill her. And then ‘swish’, and her tail-end wraps clean twice round my eighteen-inch waist and its heavy end whips my ass. And then her whole body drops ground and flashes up ‘tween my legs and over my left shoulder, and she whips my left tit.

And I’m gaspin’ and cryin’ like an animal for more. And Anna’s desperate struggle in my crushin’ beelzebub makes her tail whistle through the air double-rocket over my shoulders. And she whips my tits in turn even as her head is still super-deep up within me. And my bare tits getta larrupin’ from Anna’s tail-end like I was bein’ bullwhipped.

And then her tail grabs me around my neck, and she is stranglin’ me and I am gaspin’ and I cum so massive that I fall ground in orgasmic convulsions, my pain-pleasure enhanced by Anna’s death threatenin’ stranglehold, still with the anaconda’s huge head and giant body deep buried up hard and supremely extremely high within my moist cave. And I stagger to my feet a livin’ orgasm, as Anna once more lets go my neck and her body whisks wicked and whips my tits, slaps my back, and whips my tits twice more on each heavy tit, and I scream and scream and scream and scream and scream as Anna’s tail flogs my tits over my shoulders while her upper body now free from the crushin’ of the most-girl of my muscles, wriggles and writhes and works itself deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper into me, as her tail lashes my tits bullwhip-hard. And my nipples are made harder than ruby-red-diamonds as I orgasm and holler and screech with my horror and pain and my beyond-pleasure’s pleasure as Anna writhes and wriggles deeper and deeper into my succubus and her tail lashes hell outta my reboundin’ tits.

And as Anna’s forked tongue flickers to tease tickle taunt and haunt my pink, and her jaw opens insideame to swallow my soul whole, I cum with a cum so massive I buckle at my knees, droppin’ to the ground and archin’ over backwards my whole wholly beautiful wholly holy female body locked in agonisin’ cramps, the agonisin’ cramps of a girl who’s every single muscle and sinew is in the super-spasm of an orgasm’s orgasm. I was no longer even girl, I was undiluted unadulterated orgasm. I was orgasm: pure orgasm, body mind and snake swallowed soul whole, drownin’ Anna in my girl-juice as I cum in front of that shoutin’ clappin’ stompin’ cheerin’ and jeerin’ audience in an atom-splittin’ cum of a cum of a cum’s cum.

[to be continued]

Farewell My Panties

(by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 3 – Tone

I looked at the delight-light-freckled blonde girl with the makeup-less-face and natural wild-strawberry lips poutin’ proud waitin’ train platform infronta me. She was real cute. Maybe 20, and like so liberty? Her eyeglasses perched enda her pretty little snoz signalled ‘intelligent’ like they didn’t hafta, cos her bright dark-blues said she was double-brains.

‘Was she or wasn’t she?’

Her bod was sensation. She was one delicious dame.

Three buildin’-site girls in their checker shirts, tight jeans, thick-soled high-heeled boots and hard-hats, were givin’ her the full appreciation, and she was, like, tryin’ to ignore them, even though her face said she was pleased at bein’ admired some, by these rough ‘n ready fun-lovin’ leerin’ cheery chicks?

She’da white camisole like vest with a low swoopin’ curved neckline that showed her cleaved deep cleavaged titties provokin’ pokin’ pointin’ proud, rockin’ and rollin’ as she breathed let alone when she moved. No bra, that was sure for sure.

She’da blue-denim skirt that was torn off ragged at the hem, and the hem no more than just beyond eclipsin’ her moons.

Her brown-leather waistbelt was at an angle of dangle sayin’ her skirt was upped by her hips alone and the belt just for show. And it showed how waif her waist was. And she filled her black stockings with legs longer stronger and shapelier than surely legally ‘lowable on a lovely, if’n she ain’t gonna devastate girlkind.

‘Be she, or be she not?’ that was the question.

As that Wittgenstein fella musta said: ‘All a girl has to do is be’. This girl was. Nature had provided and decided so much in her favour and now she was grantin’ us hers. She was ‘all things bright and beautiful’. She made the day a day, and not only by the firmness of the bare smooth tanned thigh above her dark-black half-up-thigh stockin’ tops.

She soughta fell outta her clothes. She was smartly dressed, but with a charmin’ carelessness that spoke she was more at home naked on a beach than draped instead.

She looked free as flight-bird long-summer-water-splash giggle-and-dash bikini-beach fun-and-frolic, with topless and bottomless worship sunbathe ‘tween nightlong partyin’ with all her equally pretty and carefree girlfriends.

She was summerlong-brown and showed her tan from one strap of her vest bein’ offa her shoulder and half-down her gentle bicep n’ triceps, revealin’ the divine fragility of the structure of her collarbone, and the curve of her neck.

She had no intention straightin’ her vest’s shoulder-strap even though it threatened to reveal a full tit, if’n that same full firm breast didn’t save the day none.

Her curl-coiled-corn-crop hair, also looked like she’d just gotten out of a passionate embrace with a whirlwind. She was both shoutin’, and signallin’ subliminally, seductive smoulderin’ succulence.

She was sex. She was sex 48/7 and 730/365: 732/366 in the four leap-years she had so far enraptured. She was sex. She was sex on legs.

Girls like her, have gotten a laser ‘tween their thighs that burns track by a beam from their crack, compellin’ the eye to follow even as it’s consumed alive by fire desire; and compellin’ us to want to know her biblically: to part the covers of her book and see inside where the words of heaven are scribed on pink leaves: to kiss her bible and ring her little bell: to kneel and knell and ask not for whom the clit tolls, as she rolls in joy at our sermon in her mount, inadequate undeservin’ wretches that we are before god’s one true representative on earth, created in her likeness, with no real right to enter her nunnery, even in worship.

‘Was she or wasn’t she?’

English-rose was her cheeks, on accounta the heat, and cos she was blushin’ at knowin’ her sin was oozin’ when the workin’ girls gave her the full whistlin’ wolf, long loud and repeated, through fingers in their mouths: like she deserved, and how, for her bein’ so darned sassy ‘wow’!

She was hot and she was hot. It was the autumnal fall, but it steamed. She took her specs off and kissed a breeze up to her forehead as a cooler, and glanced me eye to eye.

The question them workin’ girls was askin’ themselves was the one I was askin’ me. ‘Was she or wasn’t she?’ ‘Is she or isn’t she?’

She looked at me like matter-of-fact and then away. She’d made my day with just that look, even though it hurt that she did not seem to see me, let alone register me.

Perhaps she’d look again with her specs restin’ back on her freckle-speckled. Maybe she couldn’t see me without her specs.

But no: she’d seen me. She’d seen me and not seen me. She’d seen what was just another ponygirl like was everydaysville now.

‘Was she or wasn’t she?’ In that magical moment with this momentous girl, the question was more important than nuclear Armageddon, the existence of planet earth, continuation of the universe even.

‘Is she or isn’t she?’ ‘Be she, or be she not?’

When the engine pulled in, despite nature-girl’s look remindin’ me of my place seemin’ outsidea the human race, I moved to join the chick and the other passengers boardin’ train, till Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya, who didn’t seem to have noticed my half-clop forward toward an open slidin’ door where the denim skirt, strong legs, and swishin’ ass was movin’ into, led me ‘clip-clop’ ‘clip-clop’ ‘clip-clop’ to the cattle truck at the train’s rear.

‘Was she or wasn’t she?’ ‘Is she or isn’t she?’ ‘Be she, or be she not?’ Those were the burnin’ questions: three questions and yet one.

The girl who ‘just was’, the girl who was sex, the girl who was sex on lovely legs, the stupendous momentous girl, nature’s girl, musta glided to gild the train as I was led to a straw strewn pony stall, cos as I clip-clopped obeyin’ my lead rein, unable to turn my head: instead I heard the wolf-whistles and loud woops and cheers, as the girl who ‘just was’, the girl who was sex, the girl who was sex on ‘illegally long’ legs, the stupendous momentous girl, nature’s natural girl, musta just stepped up onto the train….

She musta just stepped up onto the train ….and, in doin’ so, clearly flashed that she was not…….. and that she was definitely a girl.

…………………

It had been weird.

As I stood tiptoed in my iron pony-shoe shod hooves, a warmin’ horse-blanket over my shoulders so my body would cool more slowly after my efforts with Merinda ridin’ me. As I stood tiptoed in my iron pony-shoe shod hooves, with my arms bound out cruciform on the cangue round my neck, tethered standin’ on my highly erotically long-stretched ballet-trained fit slim supremely shapely strong legs, my bare bottom’s full moons waddled and described an erotic magic circle, as the train pulled out and I had to re-find my stance in my stall, toppled momentary-disturb by the train’s pull-away lurch.

I’d just been de-saddled. My ass and my twat bits’ the latter still shinin’ from the polishin’ my moisture had ministrated it with, were over the wooden partition divider ‘tween stalls, as were my tit-reins. I was tethered by a short rein from my mouth-bit, facin’ out into the cattle-coach from my stall. My ‘good-girl’ mouth-bit and bridle with blinkers had been replaced with a softer overnight type mouth-bit. As far as I could tell, I was the only ponygirl on the train: leastin the only one in this ‘ticular cattle truck.

It had been weird.

I’d pictured Merinda woulda grabbed the ‘Nubian Nipple’ ruby from Lola, and we’d have run into the night.

But no.

Instead it’d been a coupla days with me out on patrol pullin’ the copette cart routine.

I was overed where I used to patrol on foot, and the girls from there who remembered me before I was made pony, came over to pat my bare buns, showin’ how they still regarded me good, which was real nice.

Where the ‘Nubian Nipple’ was concerned, I was sorta outta the case and in the case. Since I’d gone over to private eye, I’d gotten kinda used to makin’ the plans. Now I knew, or leastin’ hoped and believed, that makin’ me pony was part of some bigger plan in which I was still a vital piece jigsaw.

……………..

I’d not been saddled for solo ride before. After they’d bitted my mouth and fitted tit-reins to the rings in my nipples, they forced the ass and twat bits up me and tightened my crotch-belt to hold them in place.

The saddle they put on me next, was a sorta backwards-facin’ chair they fixed at the bottom of my back, just above my ass. It was strapped around my belly real tight and over my shoulders two straps, mergin’ into one strap to ‘tween my 38E’s ‘fore it was buckled off fronta my belt.

They trotted me out saddled, to the steps where I immediately saw the princess, lookin’ great-shakes-shapely in her polo-shirt, blue-jeans, and brown knee-high wheel-spurred ridin’ boots.

Merinda was at parlez vous with this beautiful creature, that was all white though she looked like a gorgeous negress: all transparent white with the most startlin’ pink eyes. I didn’t never before seen an albino afore. So this was the girl Lola, that headed the Lola-Dillinger Mob. She was breathtakin’ beautiful!

“I got her three sisters in trainin’ to take her place. Lulabell, Amour, and Capriccio wanted pony when they seen Hotcrack in the parade Park Central, save Capriccio has wanted mind change since. ‘Bouncers’, ‘Nippleoanna’, and ‘Lovetolick’ are just bein’ broken. Lovetolick’s got a lot of fire, and is takin’ a hell of a whippin’. But anyways you can have Hotcrack with my complimentaros princess”, I heard Lola say.

I could see no sign that the princess had got the ‘Nubian Nipple’ ruby back. Lola addressin’ her as ‘princess’ too, said the game was up. But then this partin’ of Lola and Merinda seemed all pals. It was weird.

My stable-girls reined me walk over to the steps, and turn my back. I felt Merinda’s 100-pounds of pure girl sit in the saddle-seat.

At first, I sidewaysed under the weight I was unused to, never havin’ been rid solo saddle afore, but Merinda was a full-experience ponygirl jockey, and skilled with the tit-reins. She soon had me straighten, standin’ ready for walk, and waitin’ her orders to me through her tuggin’ on my tits to tell me to obey, and tappin’ my thigh with her crop to tell me she’d whip me good if’n I didn’t do as she tell.

Two sharp up-tugs of my 38Es with the tit-reins, and a “Hup there Hotcrack! Hup there girl!” and I was obeyin’ the walk order as I was made to oughta, lessen she use her crop and her spurs on me.

Merinda rode me steady from Lola’s home, where the copette-ponygirls were stabled, to the train station. I was mighty proud clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-cloppin’, with this exquisite honey as my jockey.

She was real gentle with me. She was sweet with my tits too, just the lightest tugs on the reins to my nipple-rings, to tell me to turn left or right. And she gave me lotsa “good girl” and “steady girl, steady there” and “there’s a good girl” as I did my duty clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-cloppin’ on the hot concrete. And she patted my buns to give me a: “there’s real good girl Hotcrack” when we arrived station yard.

Then Merinda dismounted and took me platform, where she paid ticket for herself and for me as cargo.

And so platform, as we waited train, we ogled the nature-girl in her ripped-off denim micro.

And so after: I was now in a stall travellin’ I knew not where.

It had been weird.

…………….

We was an hour journey. I was peein’ on the floor straw in my stall, tryin’ not to splash my legs, when the princess came into the cattle truck, holdin’ the sensationally sensuous nature-girl by her hand.

Oh god was I jealousized!

I dared to lift my head to see over the gate across my stall.

“When we were on the platform, I had to pretend I didn’t know you. Officially I am still in Ongeria, though Lola will let the cat out the bag now, I’m sure. We can talk safely here”, Merinda’s contralto kitten-purr assured.

The nature-girl immediately put her long tongue out at Merinda, real rude seemin’. But she’da stud in the middle of it that I seen Merinda studyin’, and I knowed too, that it was a shield, a badge of office.

“So, you’re Girl-Bureau of Investigation now. I was told to expect a GBI agent on this train. May I know the name you’re goin’ by?” Merinda asks.

“I’m ‘Campbell’ ma’am: Ms Patricia Campbell: Agent Campbell?” the horny honey answers.

Then she says to Merinda: “The pony?”

“Oh, Hotcrack’s okay” assured Merinda. “We can say and do whatever we like in front of her ‘Ms Campbell’, we aren’t goin’ to frighten the horses at all”.

“How’d it go with Lola?” Ms Campbell then asks.

“She definitely bit”, Merinda replies.

“Please say no more my most merciful princess”, the hot chick then says in return. “You may do so, my most merciful princess, but I don’t want to trust a ponygirl slag.”

So, despite Merinda havin’ insisted she see Ms Campbell’s GBI identity, as if she were a stranger, it seemed in fact as if they knew each other.

I guessed Merinda’s time in America at music school, and Patricia havin’ joined the GBI since the princess had gone home between-whiles to Ongeria.

I now knew by Patricia’s confirmin’, that she was Patricia Campbell goin’ by her real name still, even though she was undercover for the GBI.

“How long has it been my angel?” Merinda suddenly asks.

“Since we were betrothed my most merciful princess”.

“Four years?”

“Yes my most merciful princess”.

“You have burned without it for four long years?”

“Yes my most merciful princess. I am completely and absolutely untouched for this past four years my most merciful princess”.

Then the angel knelt on the ground, with her butt up showin’, as her skirt slid up her moons, and what’s more, as she put her palms down flat and kissed the carriage floor, holdin’ the kiss before Merinda, that her sweetmeat was shaved shinin’-softly-satin-smoothly supremely sleek.

“Patricia my angel, you do not have to do the ‘surrendee’ here in the USA. Rise my love…”

Nature-girl rose to her feet her eyes lowered before the princess, who lightly kissed her on her forehead.

Tears rolled down my face as I controlled the sound of my profound sobs. My heart was broken. Merinda was lost to me. My dreams were nightmared. I was broken heart despairized.

……………

Till I’d seen that scene with Patricia, and heard mention of betrothal I hadn’t known that I had fallen in love with Merinda. What was betrothal to them was betrayal to me.

I’d so hoped, ever since Merinda had kissed me orgasms on that first day in my office, that I’d do pony for the cause of her case, and then… Well, honested, I’d damn fool dreamed a weddin’.

Love is blind they say. I’d shown that true. What would Her Most Merciful Majesty the Supreme Princess Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya of Ensaya and Xallia in Xallitia-Compusmertia want do with a smuck private eye, now even broken and reduced to ponygirl slut and ridden to tit-reins?

When she’d gone. When my princess had gone back to her carriage. I hollered and howled and bawled as I cried and cried and cried.

……………

As I had not afore realised, we was on the boat train. We pulled up harbour-side.

With no oil no more, coal fuelled ships again now, ‘ceptin those with wind-sails of course.

We were right alongside a big ocean-goin’ yacht named the ‘OSR Callipygian’, ‘OSR’ standin’ for ‘Ongerian Ship Royal’. Patricia Campbell had joined us.

“What do you want doin’ with the ponygirl, my most merciful majesty?” Patricia asks.

“Oh gosh. Do you know, I’d quite forgotten her. Just let her loose”, Merinda answered casual distracted.

My heart sank deeper than the deepest deep at this dismally dismissive dismissal.

Then it leapt with joy again as the princess added: “No. On second thoughts, bring Hotcrack onboard. I have a role for her yet a while”

…………….

“Get those so fuckin’ beautiful legs of yorn wider apart you whore. Wider! I said wider!! NO!! Wider!!! Wider!!! WIDER YOU FUCKIN’ SLAG!!!!!”

As we boarded the ship, the OSR Callipygian, I clip-clopped up the walkway led by nature-girl Patricia, the GBI agent, and was immediately amazed, as the all-girl crew got down on the deck in what I now knew was called ‘the surrendee’.

“Rise” Merinda says, quietly.

Attentive to Merinda’s every whim, and silent, the girl who seemed to be ship-captain, made a long-strong-leggy-legged curtsy.

Dressed in a dark-blue microskirt, with heelless tiptoe-top squared-off-toed balletic booties, she was differentiated from her crew by her wearin’ a peaked cap on her dark-brown curled negress’ ringlets, and by her havin’ gold tassels clipped to both of her nipples.

Then I realised she was confirmed chief officeress too, as I saw her juniors, two of whom had gold tassels on their left nipples only, two with silver tassels on both nipples, and two more with silver tassels on only their left nipples.

I glanced around at the junior sailorettes. They looked a tough bunch. The officeresses wore navy-blue g-strings, but not the sailorettes. The officeresses were also full depilated, but the sailorettes had their natural hair on their legs under their armpits, and to keep their satans warm.

“Captainess Hortensio Nelson! It is good to see you again! I will inspect the vessel later, though I am sure, with a girl like you in charge Hortensio, I will find all is shipshape and bristols fashion”, Merinda complimented.

“Have Hotcrack…. the ponygirl, taken below and de-ponify her for now. Put her in the hareem. Leave the nipple-rings in her and the hooves on her…. Make sure she’s fully depilated” Merinda instructed. The captainess curtsied low again, and, at her instructin’ nod, I was clip-clopped away, led by a lovely blonde sailorette with natural shimmerin’-silver down-hair all over her gorgeous tanned brown legs.

…………….

“Get those so fuckin’ beautiful legs of yorn wider apart you whore. Wider! I said wider!! NO!! Wider!!! Wider!!! WIDER YOU FUCKIN’ SLAG!!!!!”

I remained ready ponied in the hareem. So many girls and all of them beautiful. There was lots of gigglin’ and teasin’ goin’ on. I was different because I was still shod pony, but they made me too put on a yashmak.

All we girls wore a semi-transparent white silk veil. It was made like an elasticated-topped skirt. It was put over your head till its hem was just below your lips. The elastic top held it at the top of your nose, so your eyes were free to peek over it. Your hair was inside it. I still had my blonde hair made over pony-mane of course.

I was naked else, because I was pony. But all the other girls wore a similar ‘skirt’ around their chests, so as the hem came just over their tits. Their third skirts were real skirts for what they covered, or would have, were it not tradition that they be worn half-down the ass, soas to reveal buttock cleavage. Buttock cleavage was considered highly erotic in Ongerian society. Ongerian society was not wrong neither.

The sailorettes were a mix of individual black and white or of mixed-race. They reflected Ongerian society which was 99 percent female, and, within that 99 percent, forty-percent black, forty-percent white, and twenty-percent exceptionally gorgeously mixed-race.

Though I was still pony, I had been shaved and waxed like the hareem girls, and I too had had my pubic hair trimmed into the shape of a playin’ card type heart.

I was still hooved, the hareem girls wore red permanent-en-pointe ballet-shoes.

We was encouraged to exercise. And, as I was reminded I was on Ongerian territory, and must do as they do in Ongeria, not the US of A. I was taught the surrendee and that I must never ever talk to a royal without she gave me permission first, lessen I wanted have my tongue cut out. And there were two girls there who’d had their tongues removed, so I was pointed their way to know it was true what they’d do.

“Get those so fuckin’ beautiful legs of yorn wider apart you whore. Wider! I said wider!! NO!! Wider!!! Wider!!! WIDER YOU FUCKIN’ SLAG!!!!!”

So many girls and all of them beautiful. There was lots of gigglin’ and teasin’ goin’ on, but we all got floor in the surrendee, kissin’ the deck with passion when the princess came in.

Merinda led nature-girl Patricia Campbell by the hand. Though I could not see as I must remain kissin’ the ground in the surrendee, I guessed Patricia still dressed western style, and too the princess herself.

“Ms Campbell is to be shaved waxed and finished ready for our weddin’. It is to be done now so that she has the rest of the voyage to get used to it”, Merinda announced.

No girl moved from the surrendee until the princess had had the hareem doors closed after her. Then there was a rushin’ of gigglin’ lovelies toward the nature-girl spillin’ outta her clothes with the horny intensity of her high octane hormones, the 18-year-old two-billion-percent oestrogen-charged Patricia Campbell, former catwalk model and now a GBI agent.

“Princess-bride-to-be, may I have the honour?”

“No! Me! Me Princess-bride-to-be: let me!” came another eager voice.

Then a more mature voice broke in. “Would the princess-bride-to-be like somethin’ to take away the pain?”

“No. No thank you”, Patricia bravely answered. “I want the full bridal experience.”

“You are allowed a leather strip to bite on so that you don’t bite your tongue”, said the same mature woman.

“I will have the leather strip then please. Will you be the one to do me please?” Patricia answered and asked.

“Of course princess-bride-to-be, if you wish it.”

I stood seethin’ hatred as the girls giggled whilst they stripped Patricia naked and bathed her astonishin’ly gloriously exquisite golden-brown all-over-tanned and toned body, before soap latherin’ her up ‘tween her legs to re-shave her.

And moment, Patricia looked up at me and smiled at me so lovely lovin’ly, that I felt my heart leap for her too, even though I was deep blue and wantin’ die for my love of Merinda, Patricia’d stolen from me. It was moment, but it was divine to see her indigo eyes shine so with natural love at me.

And I lost sight of proceedin’s after that. All I saw was naked Patricia on her back on a table with her legs held firm wide apart and her blonde-curled head rollin’ side-to-side, and her gritted-teeth moans, and would-be screams of agony, as they girlmoeuvred her legs to position her for the different stages of what they was doin’.

And, time tocked, I realised that, for chrissakes, they was sewin’ her up!

They was sewin’ her petals! The poor little angel was havin’ her pretty petals sewn closed!! They were sewing her cunt up!!!

I seen the twinkle of a curved bodkin needle and gold-filigree thread they musta bin pullin’ through her flesh and, jeese, even though my own sin got damp thinkin’ ‘bout it, I felt horror for her

Although I hated this girl for steelin’ the princess from me, as I watched it, I knew real sympathy when I heard her screams when the needle was pushed through her lips and her long moans when the golden thread was pulled slowly through after.

It musta been a whole hour they held her and sewed her, insertin’ a tiny gold tube through which she would henceforth pee and menstruate. And I saw them bathin’ her head to cool her pain, as they pulled fresh gold thread through her flesh time over time over time over time again.

I learned since, that she was havin’ her inner and outer lips sewn up. I heard tell in the hareem, after it was done, that her clitoris hood had been stitched closed to keep her clitoris imprisoned, and her clitoris too sewn through so as to ensure it was kept under the strictest of restrictive disciplinary control.

Then, “She is ready” said the mature woman’s voice.

“She’ll find it very difficult and very painful to walk for a while. Two of you escort her to her cabin”.

“Thank you”, said Patricia’s voice, quaverin’ with evident pain.

“It is the highest honour princess-bride-to-be”, said the mature girl who had done the sewin’. “When they whip me at your weddin’, I hope I may take my pain with your strength of will my revered lady”.

I had tears in my eyes as I watched the rear of poor Patricia when she staggered like she was blind or drunk, she was so in pain. I cried for her pain and for her reminder that my love was laid waste by Patricia’s betrothal. And I recalled the conversation on the train in the cattle truck:

“How long has it been my angel?” Merinda had asked.

“Since we were betrothed my most merciful princess”.

“Four years?”

“Yes my most merciful princess”.

“You have burned without it for four long years?”

“Yes my most merciful princess. I am absolutely completely untouched for this past four years my most merciful princess”.

……………….

“Get those so fuckin’ beautiful legs of yorn wider apart you whore. Wider! I said wider!! NO!! Wider!!! Wider!!! WIDER YOU FUCKIN’ SLAG!!!!!”

I looked down on the weddin’ of Her Most Merciful Majesty the Supreme Princess Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya of Ensaya and Xallia in Xallitia-Compusmertia, the heiress to the throne of Ongeria, to the honourable Ms Patricia Campbell of New Edingow City, New Edingow State, USA, not from any position of superiority, but from a considerable height.

Till they came for me, I had no idea it was the weddin’ day.

We’d weeks-since landed in Ongeria and I was housed now in the palace’s stables, back in ponygirl harness and no longer in the hareem.

I was, of course, still made to sleep standin’. I was still in my hooves. I was still a ponygirl sleepin’ standin’ up in a rubber bit-gag.

“This here is ‘Hotcrack’. She’s down for ‘Tomasina’” said the voice of some sailorettes who were deployed shore to prepare the weddin’.

In a trice they had my cruciform cangue and my ‘good-girl’ mouth-bit bridle on and a lead rein on my mouth-bit, and were leadin’ me clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, at a smart pace, into a horsebox, and then after a journey into Ongeria City, to a church: a marvel in white marble ….

….. I went next up a short ramp to where my hooves echoed on the marble floor offa the marble pillars and walls and the highest of high vee-arched roofs inside the Ongeria City Cathedral.

In my arm-spreader cruciform cangue, I trotted clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, to the altar of the church with my 38Es bouncin’ free, gettin’ closer and closer to what I knew, or thought I knew was a huge anchor.

In charge of me, takin’ me by a rein, were Ongerian Navy sailorettes, so this must be an anchor: or so I thought.

“How can yer teach a dumb fuck pony to remember when to do it?” asked the blonde I recognised as the one who had taken me hareem on the ORS Callipygian.

“Dunno” said her single-silver-nipple-tassel sportin’ officeress, “Save that they said to whip her if’n she didn’t obey proper”.

Still sleepy, I half looked, I blinked in a daze, at the ‘iron’ anchor. It was flat on the floor standin’ on two horizontal legs that finished in huge balls, bigger than ten-pin bowlin’ balls. It was held upright by a strong chain, a chain goin’ way up to the roof of the church as far as I knew, not bein’ able to lift my head cos of the neck brace middle my cangue.

“Better get her on there” said the officeress.

They led me forward: clip, clop, clip, clop, clip, clop. And then the junior girl began to loosen the screws that fastened my hooves to my big toes.

“Will she be able to walk without hooves? They say ponies lose the natural use of their feet cos their leg muscles grow soas they can’t put their heels flat ground no more”, said the junior.

“Yea. That’s how it goes. She’s got gorgeous legs on her. Bet they didn’t call her ‘Hotcrack’ for no good reason neither”, said the officeress as she undid my wrists and took off my arm-stretch cangue.

Soon, only my bridle with my steel mouth-bit and the band across my forehead labellin’ me as ‘Hotcrack’, told the world I was pony. And they was right. My legs was in agony when they had the shoes offa me.

“You gets on the anchor thing”, said the officeress to me as if I were stupid.

“You gets on the anchor thing round the t’other side where there’s a peg to hang yourself on. And then you parts them fuckin’ beautiful legs of yorn till we can clamp your big toes again liken your usedta bein’, seein’ as how you is pony”, she insisted.

She seemed fond of fondlin’ the handle of the four-foot-long strap-whip she was weighin’ in her hand. My ass had tasted one of those plenty in my breakin’ and trainin’, so, scuse me, but I don’t do brave when a kiss like a mule’s kick is the promise if’n I don’t do as tell.

The walk in my newly bared feet was agony in my calves. Months of wearin’ pony hooves and bein’ on tiptop constant consequent, had made my legs’ muscles used to the stance, and I really could not put my feet anywheres near flat to the ground.

Then, of a sudden, around the other side of this anchor, I saw it and drew back.

It was sculptured like it was the real thing? This ‘anchor’ device musta been real history old. It was made artist for sure. Artist that knew what she was doin’ too.

It was sculptured like it was the real thing only massive: real massive. You could see bulgin’ veins, and the foreskin pulled back, and the septum crease crack, and imagine a throbbin’ red head ready to shoot its load into ya.

It musta been carved from the solid metal with love and skill. It was eighteen-inches long three-inch diameter. This massive dildo with thrustin’ veins, murdered out and up from the upright. An eighteen-inch long three-inch diameter penis of the same cold old-gold-coloured metal of the device I was still concludin’ was a giant anchor.

“Get yerself on there luv, or I’ll have to whip yer till yer does, see”, said the officeress in a tone now amended to kindly sympathetic understandin’.

“They call it a tonsil tickler. Wouldn’t like it up me, but you don’t gotta choice darlin’ do yer?” her blonde companion taunted.

“We’re gonna lift yer on darlin’, so you better think dirty soas yer beelzebub gets a sweat on eh? Soas you slide on easy. Else its really gonna fuckin’ hurt”, the junior sailorette gloated.

I’d been used to the one-foot long twat-bit in me, but the extra six-inches I now faced havin’ pushed up my cunt, terrified me.

Yet as they lifted me I slid down on that savage cruelty like I was wanton whore. I just loved it fillin’ me so full and so fuckin’ hard and cold and unmerciful. In truth, I was mentally punishin’ me for lovin’ Merinda. I wanted this cock rip me in sacrifice to my love.

It was the way I was minded now. I was double-deep in love with the princess. I both hoped and knew hopeless too. I dreamed kiss from her sacred lips, but knew I was no-hope truth.

She’d kissed my pink-satin-satan to orgasm me back in my office at first meet. But I’d since realised, I’d just been meat. She’d fancied a quick lick and knew I was cream-slice for her. I was just another girl. She’d had me for a ‘quicky’. She’d probably now forgotten she’d ever even done me.

But then I’m standin’ legs on tip-top tiptoe on the bar of the ‘anchor’ as I lets out a huge belch and feel the bile rise in my throat from this Empire State of cocks pushin’ up against my guts, so high is it already up insidea me.

Impaled on this emperor of penises, I squeak-moaned my pain and desire. It filled me so vast and full I could feel it punchin’ my belly up, and I just loved it. My succubus was near ripped by its enormity, and I just loved it. As I belched long and loud again from its pushin’ the wind outta me, I was a girl cocked by this cock.

“Just listen to the fuckin’ dirty little cat will yer? She’s fuckin’ lovin’ it!” mocked the blonde sailorette.

And so big was the main dildo, I’d not seen the other dildo forkin’ off on its inside back. But now I sure as hell felt it. My hood had been wide-opened by this shorter forked-off back-up penis, and my clit was bein’ rubbed by the bifurcation.

The main penis filled me and fulfilled me. If I had no hope with the princess, I wanted suffer for her. I would give my all for the maybe one day she’d smile at me. That’s how deep down I was broke heart for her.

“Now part those so knock-dead fuckin’ beautiful legs of yorn darlin’. Spread them wide along, till your big toes is in the clamps on the big balls at the ends”, I was ordered.

I tentatived partin’ my legs, feelin’ the huge cold cruel eighteen-inch-long penis go further harder up me like it was gonna split me open and come outta my mouth already!”

As I widened my legs, the cock went further harder up me, and I belched and gagged on the bit and hollered with my pain, and drew my pretty little feet back together again.

“Get those so fuckin’ beautiful legs of yorn wider apart you whore. Wider! I said wider!! NO!! Wider!!! Wider!!! WIDER YOU FUCKIN’ SLAG!!!!!”

I so feared the whip that I again tentatived partin’ my legs as ordered and my mouth fell open as I slowly but surely fully obeyed, and felt the huge cock punch up my belly real hard. And I let out another long loud belch, and wretched and gagged as I was finally down, all the way down, and the cock up, all the way up, eighteen-inches of three-inch-diameter cock was all the way up my cunt, rippin’ my guts aside, pressin’ up on my poor desperately poundin’ heart.

As they screwed my big toes insidea the clamps to hold my legs wide, I was spread like a whore after a hometown homecomin’ parade.

Now the eighteen-inch long three-inch diameter iron hard iron-cold penis was fully up me and hurt like hades’ hades.

“God just look at the fuckin’ legs on her will yer! No wonder the fuckin’ princess chose her for ‘Tomasina’. Any girl who couldn’t cream lookin’ at those fuckin’ dream legs is a double-dead dodo!! The princess is marryin’ the wrong American babe if you asks me.

Even as my stretched out penis-sundered body suffered in agony, oh how proud these crude words made me feel.

“Are you listenin’ you fuckin’ whore?!!”

The officeress who had so praised my legs, seemed to be turned on, not only by the beauty of my legs, but also by verbally abusin’ me. “When you’re up inside you grabs hold of the handles with those lovely little hands of yorn and you pulls the handles and swings your hips so as to make a good strong tune.”

I had no idea what she was on about: what handles for chrissakes and up where?

They were now fastenin’ a gold chain through the rings in my nipples and tyin’ my tits together around the upright of the ‘anchor’, and, that done, I was goin’ up.

There was no mistakin’ that I was goin’ up. The anchor like device I was impaled upon my cunt with its secondary penis pressin’ hard my clit, was bein’ hauled up and me with it. And, to steady myself, I embraced the upright of the ‘anchor’ with my pretty hands, as if I were embracin’ my lover. And I looked up and I saw where I was a headin’ and I was terrified.

…………….

It hung from two massive chains. The huge chain toppin’ the ‘anchor’ I was impaled spread-legged upon, went through a hole in its top centre.

One of the two sailorettes was rotatin’ a crank-handle, turnin’ a ratchet-wheel to wind the chain I was danglin’ on, onto a huge capstan.

The chain aloftin’ me, ran through that hole in the top centre of ‘Tomasina’, over a pulley, horizontal across the church inside roof, over another pulley, and down to the capstan-drum-winder on one of the balconies. The blonde sailorette had gone up there to winch me up. And the officeress sailorette was directin’ the proceedin’s from down below.

My goin’ up in the world, was rapid at first, but it had to slow when I began to swing and twist.

It took twenty-minutes to get me approachin’ my place. I heard my breathin’ echo when I reached Tomasina’s rim. The day was gettin’ hot as dawn sun rose. But as I rose up final millimetre by final millimetre, I was enterin’ a zone surprisin’ly cool.

As I rose up final millimetre by final millimetre to where I was to go, I read on the inside rim of the casting: “Tomasina 1343”. And I was wonderin’ how many other girls over all those many years had been before me where I was.

And I was wonderin’ too, if what was up me was ever washed, or if I was sharin’ the intimacy of all the other lovely girls that musta been here before me since 1343 already. And it felt a sorta honour to be chosen. And I wasn’t gonna let those other tortured darlin’s down none.

I was up inside ‘Tomasina’ now, and listenin’ to the echo of my breath and of my little girly fart of fear, as I looked down and was duly truly terrified.

And so full was my spread-legged body with the huge phallus I was impaled upon, I belched real loud and long like I was a wretchin’ again. And I heard my belch echo all around me in the cool darkness where I now hung on the ‘anchor’ at the end of a hugely strong chain.

‘Tomasina’?

Oh yea. Well yea, you need to know dontcha? How stupid of me not to say. Sorry reader: real sorry….

‘Tomasina’ was just about the massivist bell you could imagine, and then some more massive too.

That’s right, I’d been hauled up inside a huge round bell and was danglin’ impaled by my cunt, with my tits chained round its upright, and with my lovely legs spread wider than wide, clamped to its end balls: I was impaled on the massive bell’s huge striker.

Spread-legged in agony on what I had hitherto called ‘the anchor’, cos that was what it looked like to me afore I knew what it really was. I had my lovely arms upreached and my pretty hands graspin’ on the handles on the inside of ‘Tomasina’, just as I had been ordered.

When the time came, I was to use my body to ring this bell. I was gonna be a good girl and ring this bell to knell the happy union of my love, the Princess Merinda, to my rival, the absolutely gorgeous all-American-honey-pie, Patricia Campbell.

An hour passed with that huge cold cock up me, as I looked down at the gatherin’ of the rich famous and powerful. I saw a stunnin’ Ethiope I just knew must be Merinda’s mom, the Queen of Ongeria herself. A princess from the royal family of England was there. And I recognised US Vice President Wilhelmina Clitton, holdin’ hands with Lotta Lovejuice, the Chiefess of the Girl-Intelligence Agency (the GIA) too.

But once she was there, I only had eyes for one girl. Below where I was suspended on Tomasina’s striker, Her Most Merciful Majesty the Supreme Princess Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya of Ensaya and Xallia in Xallitia-Compusmertia was awaitin’ the arrival of her beautiful American nature-girl bride.

Down the side of the aisles of the church, to every pillar holdin’ the balcony, hareem girls were tied two-by-two facin’ each other. Fastened by havin’ their nipples tied: nipples to opposite girl’s nipples by ropettes passin’ around the upright pillars, and thus pullin’ their tits out real hard, and then by their held-out arms, which were tied to the next girl left and right by their little-fingers. They were naked except for the face yashmaks.

They were each gonna get thirty-eight lashes, that number bein’ the combined ages of the bride and bride on this weddin’ day.

They were to be whipped simultaneous. The sound of the canes on their bare asses, and their screams of pain consequent, bein’ music for the weddin’ ceremony and remindin’ them that they now had two mistresses.

And my beautiful Merinda waitin’ her bride? Oh god she was so lovely in a white suit of summer-cool soft linen in a cut and line that spoke Paris or Rome for sure. Her sweet browness contrastin’ with its soft whiteness, to show her ebony darkness to its perfection.

Now below, as the deepest notes of the cathedral’s organ suddenly made ‘Tomasina’ vibrate in sympathy and the penis rubbin’ my clit-organ, play tunes of heaven through my all-girl nerve-endings, I watched the progress of Patricia.

Patricia Campbell looked stunnin’ in a heavy gold crown decorated with huge diamonds, down from which, formin’ veil and dress as one, flowed layer upon layer upon layer upon layer of the finest of fine crystal-white rose patterned diamond-sequinned lace, tumblin’ tumultuously to the ground where it whispered a hushed swish as she glided along.

Under the lace abundance, it was plain to see, despite the multi-lairs that she was all but completely naked. She’d her lovely hands cuffed in fronta her with pure gold thumb-links, and pure gold rings on every finger.

Her lovely little ears were fresh pierced, with luminous voluminous sapphires glowin’ true blue beams from her tiny little lobes, and with pretty diamonds at every millimetre up from her lobes, all round her ear edges.

The wild-strawberry lips of her extraordinarily pretty naturally-poutin’ mouth were rose-pink-red with superbly artistically applied lipstick.

Her pierced nose sported one huge sapphire sidea her left nostril.

She wore gold anklets with a quarter-inch hobble-chain, so as she had to super-wiggle in her sky-high pure white balletic-shoes, with, as I just somehowed, a pure gold ring on her every pretty toe.

The white lace-up straps from her tiptoe-tiptoppin’ ballet-shoes, magically criss-crossed up her superb calves and wonderful thighs, before bein’ tied off in dainty bows at what would have been stockin’-top height, were her very lovely legs not completely bare.

And, oh god it was so incredible, it was so incredible …… her nipples had had hundreds of sparklin’ diamonds imbedded in them.

The nipples themselves were so smothered with diamonds they were as if two huge diamonds themselves, catchin’ refractin’ and reflectin’ the light, with lightenin’-blue-white sparks that dazzled like lasers, as Patricia’s bare titties was a swingin’ and a swayin’ like two prayers to heaven such was their emotional motion.

This breath-takin’ bride, smiled as she wiggled her tiny tiny steps to meet with her bride. She smiled, despite it bein’ clear to see, even though her soft gold pubic hair had re-grown and been duly sculpt-shaved into a love-heart shape, that her petals was fully and completely sewn-up, all the way up, and all the way down.

And I already knew that she was also fully sewn up inside: her inner lips sewn closed too, and her clitoris hood was stitched closed and her clitoris itself sewn through and through with the exceptionally neat stitches her pretty love-lips were sewn closed with.

All this was tradition for the bride of Ongerian royalty. Patricia was sewn closed so that she would remain an intact virgin forever.

She was to be a bride of love. She would show that love by foregoin’ all sexual pleasure, bar that of keepin’ herself beautiful, and denyin’ herself everythin’ for her wife.

Her ever-virgin state was her sacrifice. She would pleasure her wife at her wife’s command, but would never expect pleasure in return, because it was forbidden her.

Because it was forbidden her, Patricia would think about sex and only about sex obsessively 24/7 and thus be driven to new heights in pleasurin’ her wife, and givin’ her wife the orgasmic joys that she herself could never now experience in her savagely sewn-up state, and with her nipples permanently pierced and protected with the diamonds decoratin’ them so divinely this day.

But I had been starin’ with astonishment, not only at Patricia’s angel beauty, but at her pretty belly.

On her belly, she had a surprise as astonishin’ as her sweetmeat just below bein’ sewn-up so tightly neatly with the pure-gold thread that glinted in the sunlight from the altar window, and the diamonds that completely covered her nipples, and shot out glorious sparklin’ sparks as her breasts swayed and swung.

This prize surprise beamed as it caught the light refracted and reflected by Patricia’s diamond encrusted nipples. It hung and swung with its multi-facets of every shade of changin’ colour-red known to girl. Patricia wore it in her navel.

The prize surprise was a six-inch-diameter multi-facetted cone, somehow held in Patricia’s little navel. It was a huge ruby that covered the angel’s smooth flat curved belly as she wiggled her perfect powerful potency toward the sacrifice of her hand in marriage. Without a shout of a doubt, it was the so-called ‘Nubian Nipple’!

“Do you Patricia Campbell of the City of New Edingow in the state of New Edingow in the United States of America, promise to obey the whim and the whip of Her Most Merciful Majesty the Supreme Princess Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya of Ensaya and Xallia in Xallitia-Compusmertia?

“I do” Patricia sighed as she looked long-lovin’ly-longin’ly up at her bride.

“Then I now pronounce you wife and wife!” said the priestess.

And, as my tears rolled, and my sobs soared, I dutifully began to swing my hips and reach out my slim shapely arms to pull on the handles to swing ‘Tomasina’ onto the striker and the striker onto ‘Tomasina’.

And I swung my hips harder grippin’ the grab-handles I had been ordered to grip, the hand grips insidea ‘Tomasina’ the huge bell insidea which I was impaled and tied by my toes extremely widely spread-legged to the huge striker. And I swung my ass and pulled with my pretty arms, and at last ‘Tomasina’ clanged.

And I swung my hips and wiggled my bum and pulled with my pretty hands and my clamped big toes. And I was ringin’ the huge bell, and every strike sent the sounds of hell into my head and the vibrations juddered me from top to toe, and toe to top, and top to toe, and back again. And it juddered through the striker into my cunt through the huge penis on which I was impaled and through the secondary penis constantly pressin’ hard on my clit.

And I was a wagglin’ and a wrigglin’ and a wigglin’ on the massive prick that was up me, and it hurt like I was bein’ drilled through to make it come outta my goddam mouth, so high and hard was it a fuckin’ me. And my puny efforts were not good enough. And I knew I had to work harder. And I began to really work the striker to and fro with my lovely legs and pull with my pretty arms. And it was hell in the bell as ‘Tomasina’ echoed her joy at the weddin’ and I screamed as I creamed as I tugged on the hand holds and worked my legs to make ‘Tomasina’ ring. And the slaves were screamin’ below as they each took their thirty-eight stripes in unison. And I was screamin’ as my mind was blowin’ as I was swingin’ the bell on the striker and the striker on the bell and my titty ties were tuggin’ on my nipples to give me more hell as I rode the Empire State size prick eighteen-inches long and three-inch-wide up me. And my succubus was on fire with desire as my juices ran down the dildo of the vibratin’ donger and ‘Tomasina’ donged and donged and I could no longer hear my screams as I creamed, deafened by the bell insidea which I hung. And I got the swing in rhythm and ‘Tomasina’ rang out proud ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, as my gorgeous legs swung the two-ended striker and my lovely arms pulled the bell itself opposite so it rang it out ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, no longer screamin’ but still creamin’ as every ‘DONG’ and ‘DONG’ set such vibrations through my cunt as even my teeth were rattlin’ in my pretty mouth as my body waggled and wriggled and wiggled on the huge reverberatin’ phallus fillin’ me. ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’. I was workin’ the bell and I was workin’ me to a pitch of creamin’ from my pot wagglin’ and a wrigglin’ on that massive dildo, slidin’ so silk smooth but gettin’ to wonderin’ as if I was a bleedin’ such a huge fuckin’ was I gettin’ from the gigantic cold cock up me. ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’. My creampot urged me on. And I wanted on. And I was vibratin’ inside. And I was stone deafened so I could not hear my own screams of joy as I massived a cum and a cum and a cum. And I was swingin’ me again and I was comin’ still as ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, I was ringin’ out the joy of the weddin’ even while I erupted in a multi-multi-cum. And then I belched and wretched and puked from the massive massive phallus rippin’ and rapin’ my body. And with my cum-juices and my blood tricklin’ down from my mouth as well as my cunt, as I belched and wretched from the massiveness of the penis poundin’ bruisin’ brutally hard up on my lovin’ heart, and splashin’ my sacrifice on the cathedral’s white marble floor, my whole holy body juddered and shuddered and jerked in reflex, as my head fell back, with my bein’ finally overcome by my antepenultimate penultimate and ultimate utterly intimate mega-mega-cums as blood from my mouth dripped scarlet on my tits and from my cunt harlot to the marvel marble floor ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’, ‘DONG’….

‘DONG’…..

………….

‘DONG’…………………

……………….. ‘DONG’ ……………

[to be continued]