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Review This Story || Author: Eve Adorer

Seraphima

Chapter 6 Dual

Seraphima

Seraphima

(by Eve Adorer)

 

Chapter 6 – Dual

 

Seraphima knew not how to act now in the presence of her mistress.

 

Even by the dawn-crack-hour when Seraphima woke for her shower and to dress for her day, Teasetta was gone from Seraphima’s cubicle in the servants’ bedroom.

 

Only an extra hollow in the pillow of the bed she had hallowed with her hello to the highest love, confirmed the reality Seraphima still needed to metaphorically pinch herself to believe, that she had encountered with Teasetta in more than mere wet-dream.

 

As the black rose reluctantly rose from her bed, she poised to bend and thus lower her bosom. And, as she savoured the indisputable aroma of Teasetta’s crème-Français on the white sheet, she now knew for sure she had enjoyed proto-connubial bliss with her mistress. And, as if bells after a wedding, her breasts seemed to swing out and sing out and ring and ding out the celebration of the supreme of supreme joys.

 

Seraphima knew not how to act now in the presence of her mistress.

 

The white nylon maid’s uniform Seraphima wore this morn, was designed to be both provocative, and to heat her body with the traffic of ecstatic static.

 

A ‘traditional’ maid’s outfit, in order to contrast with the dark-chocolate of Seraphima’s dream complexion, it was, of course, white rather than black.

 

It’s top had puffed out short-sleeves, leaving Seraphima’s lovely arms bare. The skirt of its mini-dress had alternating narrow and wider pleats, and belled out a quarter way down her thighs. It thus showed the single white suspenders down the outsides of her thighs clasping her white fishnet stockings, leaving an erotic expanse of bare thigh above them naked.

 

Within its top, Seraphima’s chest formed fulsome twin peaks, tipped by her brown-pink nipples, which rubbed on the Velcro needles that were sewn into the inside chest of the garment to that very end.

 

Hidden from view, but not from Seraphima’s experience, was the fact that the skirt had a teaser ropette built into it, and to draw the dress up onto her shoulders, and to tie tight the lace-up that formed its bib, Seraphima had had, once more, to be forcefully divided, and thus thoroughly reminded that she was a girl.

 

Her frilly headband with the word ‘Dresser’ on it, was bright scarlet, as was the tiny square of lace-edged mock-apron that she tied with a bow around her breathtaking waist on top of the skirt of her dress.

 

A pair of fifteen-inch-heeled scarlet platform sandals erected her long legs as monuments to their own incredible shapeliness.

 

“Run my bath for me please Seraphima!” Teasetta routinely called down to the servants’ quarters.

 

“Of course my lady”, Seraphima answered, the message and response, if not Seraphima’s deliciously curvy legged curtseys, being conveyed instantly by the built in microphones and speakers.

 

After she had bent over the bath to flash the wonder of the world, to the world, in the world, of her lovely legs and sweet arms, and turned the taps to fill the tub for Teasetta, in Seraphima’s tiptoe wiggle to her mistress’ bedroom, one might have espied an extra nervousness: at least if one had not been devastated by the deep sexiness of her walk, the fascinating rock and roll of her bottom, and the shear elegant excellence of her long legs, one might.

 

“Good morning SeraphimaTaesetta smiled, without the slightest hint of the passion she had experienced in the black angel’s bed, showing in her face or voice.

 

“Good morning my lady”, Seraphima obediently curtsied, trying to hide any emotion in her own actions or intonation, the pigtails her pubic hair was twisted into, swinging between her legs, after they and their white ribbons had touched the floor like snakes in the courteous curtsey.

 

As she took Teasetta’s baby-doll nightdress’ top over Teasetta’s head and fed the glory of Teasetta’s titian twirls through it, and then lowered Teasetta’s nightdress-set’s panties, Seraphima’s nostrils flared, the better to enjoy the Arabian aromas of the lovely soiled body, before they were bathed in girlufactured scents.

 

Teasetta was naked, and Seraphima ready with the robe for her delicate shoulders, and to escort her to where she would bathe her; when Teasetta turned.

 

When Teasetta turned, Seraphima’s face was a neutral blank. Seraphima dare not show that she was in pursuit of other than the duties she was employed for, but her dark brown eyes could not help but wander over the wonder of her mistress’ body.

 

“Last night… I mean this morning…… It was truly wonderful Seraphima: exceptionally so. But you must realise that it can never ever happen again, and that, indeed it never happened even though it did. Do you understand me?” Teasetta whispered gently and sweetly.

 

“What never happened my lady?” Seraphima responded, with her eyes looking straight ahead, to signal her understanding.

 

“Thank you angel” Teasetta whispered anew.

…………………

 

Teasetta had so hoped to be ready for John’s return from the USA.

 

Seraphima was dressed this later day in another ‘Y’. A sky-blue Y. And, except that she also wore transparent plastic heelless ballet-booties, only a ‘Y’.

 

As she stood in wait for her mistress’ command, with the fascinatingly erotic contrasting white of the soles of her feet clearly on display in her translucent shoes. And when she wiggled her kicky-steppy way in her ballet-booties, Seraphima’s legs looked even more particularly than merely particularly wonderful.

 

Teasetta had busied herself on her laptop all day. She was working at home. The Hinanamia Heavenscent Noirrose case had gone to the WIGGLE. The Girl-Police had raised an objection to the leniency of the sentence. The higher court had called for a submission from Teasetta, as the judge in the case. Theirs was the power to confirm or increase the sentence. Before they did either, they demanded a submission from Teasetta, that would be read in conjunction with the transcript of the lower court’s proceedings.

 

Teasetta now rose from her chair, distracted.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind Seraphima….”, she whispered.

 

Obedient as ever, even to this oblique command, Teasetta tottered over on her taut teasingly tall-towered temptingly tensioned legs, and eased up her mistress' skirt, lowered her panties, and unhooked her soiled sanitary pad.

 

After cleaning her mistress with a moist disposable wipe, Seraphima quickly hooked in place a fresh pad, and raised her love’s panties, and lowered her dress once again.

 

Teasetta then sat herself back at her desk concentrating on her work, and muttered a distant “thank you” as Seraphima, her pubic hair tied as garters to her thighs, reminding her of her very exceptional femininity with her every supreme dream step, wiggled her glory out to dispose of the soiled pad and wet-wipe.

…………………

 

It had, of course, happened again.

 

Until the in-come of the on-come of the outpour of Teasetta’s monthly bleed, Teasetta had blessed Seraphima’s bed every night, and six-thousand-six-hundred-and-twenty four had been the temperature on the centigrade scale when four sets of lips had lingered in endless longing fulfilled: sixty-nine multiplying with ninety-six in four-way kiss bliss.

 

Kneeling, her thighs forming a bridge of sighs over the rubicund river of copper curls, and thus over the pink posy posed pouted lips in the lily white of the lovely face draped over by the curled curtain of her pubic tresses, Seraphima knew no limitation to the cries her constant crisis gone critical caused to cascade from her own poised passionate lips, less they too were silenced by her sipping of the honeyed drip from Teasetta’s titian tessellated slit.

 

The licks were long with longing and languor, as lovely answered the lick of lovely in the long length of their love-slits, tasting and testing, tormenting and teasing, easing and pleasing, lapping and licking, seeking and finding, sucking and seeping. And Seraphima’s clitoris answered the call of love and uncurled to plunder Teasetta’s eager throat.

 

Then the turn as Seraphima’s clitoris tension knew, and grew, and Teasetta wanted this substitute in her, deep where no man had ever mined her, never mind John’s inadequacy. And the girls would linger with Seraphima’s fifteen-inch clitoral finger high in the moist heat of her love. Teasetta still startled by the sensations of the pulsing of this passion pole in her sacred hole, her eyes would close and her sheath grip and her crisis’ kingdom-come on earth as it could never ever be in heaven, as she came and her cums from her cums communicated through the uncurled proboscis that was Seraphima’s butterfly clitoris, took Seraphima too to the same heaven of boundless soundless silence, and endless eternal time, where Seraphima’s screams were Teasetta’s and Teasetta’s were Seraphima’s, and both were neither girls’, and both girls’, as each and either girl, and both girls, died the little death of the culmination of combined cums, that the screams of ecstasy they heard and did not hear from the skies lit by the eclectic electrical lightening streaks and wondrous thunderous crescendo strike spikes of their arrival in negative nemesis, was punctuated with a period, when their transportation beyond nirvana was over, and they made a reluctant return to the earthly heavens of their own exquisite bodies, as they wept with joyous laughter, and then slept, sated saints, sweetly exhausted by their athletic exaltations.

…………………

 

In Seraphima’s servility, there had always been the willingness of her sweet nature. Was there now a newer eagerness to serve and please?

 

If Seraphima was honest with herself, she knew that she loved, but could not be sure she was loved.

 

Teasetta was a married woman. She was waiting for John’s return. If in this there was yearn, it was Seraphima’s too, in turn.

 

Despite that they would now raise the roof with their rows, the love of John and Teasetta and Teasetta and John was still fully found profound and sound, and Seraphima merely the subservient servant, near slave, made maid to hang around.

 

The boundless bed bound passion Teasetta enjoyed with Seraphima, even though in bed it had seemed so magical, seemed now to be no more than physical.

 

By contrast, Seraphima’s love was as passionate as the girl herself, and dwelt in no half-world or half-heart, or indeed in any ‘or’ bar ‘awe’ or ‘ore’, and only then if the ‘ore’ was the purest of pure gold.

 

The onset of Teasetta’s period seemed to punctuate the passion. The flow of the crimson streak in her divine divide seemed to draw a line just as red, to be read as that across which Seraphima could no longer hope to go, now that John’s return to the home was about to show.

 

Yet it was not in mischief or in a miscreant meaning moment, that Seraphima’s cleavage and her hugely handsome bosom seemed to glow, as she curtsied to the returning John, and, after, squeaked with the shock of the playful slap as he patted her bared bottom when she one-ton-wantonly wiggled her black beauty in traverse, but in no travesty, entrancing the rest of the entrance hallway as she glided and guided her wiggle to her duties.

……………

 

A week had passed since the return and a telling to John by the dutiful servant girls who shared Seraphima’s room, of whom they had seen wander her wonder into Seraphima’s bed cubicle, and what they had heard, as if they could have avoided the joyous sighs shouts screeches and screams of the two supreme creatures sharing each others’ wildest dreams.

 

John had said nothing to his wife, until she once more berated him for his lack of bedroom prowess, and thrown in his impotence in business to boot, in a cruelty that only reflected her deep sexual frustration.

 

Teasetta was skating on thin ice. Only the wealth she had inherited from her mother gave her the comfort zone within which she could feel confident that she would not end up a servant like most poor girls did: like Seraphima had.

 

If her stocks and shares in ponygirl breeding and gold and coal mines, such as those run by Colon and Sphincter Incorporated where Seraphima had slaved, failed, her husband could simply throw her into the streets.

 

The news that John had sold the full-length portrait ‘Nubian Nymphet in Filly’s Harness’, after it had turned out to be a genuine Millicent Minelletti, and that it had fetched one-million dollars at Christina’s New Edingow auction rooms, silenced the auburn angel in astonishment.

 

So stunned with joy for her husband’s success was his wife, that she hardly heard what he said next about the scullion finding titian-red and dark-brown hairs inexplicably inextricably intertwined in Seraphima’s bed.

 

Once more in her white nylon maid’s uniform that day, and heelless transparent ballet booties, Seraphima saw tears in Teasetta’s eyes, the outcome, she feared, of another blazing row with John.

 

John gone to work his day, aglow with a victory over his wife: as she lowered Teasetta’s nightgown to a decorative flowered circle on the floor, around the naked immobile nubile’s long white legs, readying her to bathe her, Seraphima was stunned at her mistress’ sudden conversation.

 

As she turned her lovely face with its miracle of surrounding curls to talk girl to girl, Teasetta surprisingly announced: “John says he is going to report you to the Girl-Police for raping me”.

 

“He is, of course, entirely right. It’s an honour thing.”

 

“You can blame it on the loud mouths of your fellow servants, Seraphima. One of them has played serpent and told of us devouring each others figs.”

 

As she stepped over into the bath and lowered herself to soak, before Seraphima must wash her, Teasetta curved her calves to a perdition of powerful curves.

 

Teasetta continued her theme: “Of course, it might end my career. It could be concluded by the court that there had been mutuality. Fornication is a major crime. We would both be whipped in Spindon market place, as a warning to other girls.”

 

“But John is both a jealous and yet a generous man. If our intercourse can be demonstrated as preparatory to troilism, it would no longer be fornication in the eyes of the law.”

 

“In other words, if it was my gift to him, as my husband and master, to get you into our bed, nothing further could or would be done or said.”

 

“I’ve told him about the risk to you. I mean, the pill and all that. You not being protected in any way, with there being no need….but John wants to fuck you. That will be alright won’t it?” Teasetta concluded, as she raised her slender left arm for Seraphima to wash it.

 

“Of course my lady”, Seraphima shyly answered, without a reflex in her face, even though she was devastated by the crude pronouncement.

……………..

 

The cry of pain was pitiful, and yet so horny-making.

 

Seraphima, though she knew she had been betrayed by Teasetta, was fighting not to give the Girl-Police what they repeatedly told her they wanted and would have: a confession and a guaranteed plea of ‘very guilty’ to the crime of rape.

 

Seraphima was bound by her wrists behind a whipping post in the cold cruel white-tiled torture room of Spindon Girl-Police’s Central Station House.

 

On her breasts, fastened like a bra, with buckled leather straps around behind her, and thus behind the same post she was tied to, was the tit-clamp they were tightening on her. Its parallel horizontal upper and lower wooden jaws had already been squeezed half-closed. With her wrists tied hopelessly behind her and behind the post, Seraphima was helpless, and could only view through tear-mist, the three wing-headed bolts that pressed the clamp slowly, but equally inevitably, closed, as they were hand-turned, three turns each, every fifteen minutes, as they had been for the past two-hours.

 

“NO! NO! NO!!” Seraphima cried as the wing-headed bolts were turned slowly, right, left, and middle in turn, three turns more, to tighten the pressure on her titanic tits further.

 

Seraphima’s huge breasts were squashed horrendously. Their tip-tops, forced out by the tit-clamp’s pressure, were blown-up like children’s balloons. Her nipples were hugely swollen and extremely sensitive, with their milk-holes opened like the centre of the buds of delicate wild flowers.

 

Seraphima must but must think of something anything to try and take her mind off the dreadful pain.

 

After her arrest, they had girlackled her wrists and dragged her through the streets, making her totter tippy-toe in her white nylon maid’s dress, and her ballerina-shoes, with her luscious legs tensioned taut smooth erotic curves, and her huge breasts dancing a fantastic tango fandango in her top, with the nipple-rubbing Velcro cruelly exciting her, as she wiggled helplessly along. She had been tied and made to run behind the Girl-Police cart, hauled by its sweat-glistening twin ponygirls, dressed only in their perspiration-soaked light-blue, police-blue, thongs.

 

Wot’s diss one den?”, had come a weary voice as the two pretty blonde coppettes had hauled Seraphima before the charge desk.

 

“Maid wot raped ‘er mistress, sarge”, came the flat-voiced response.

 

“Name’s Seraphima Diablos Desiree. Mistress and victim is a Professor Teasetta Loveschild.” the voice, too world-weary for one so young as its twenty-year-old owner, continued.

 

“This Prof Loveschild’susband, a John Charles Loveschild, is ‘er accuser, and ses de uver servants ‘ll be witness, if’n we don’t get no confess from ‘er

 

“We won’t get no fankyou from de court if’n we don’t get no confess”, the sergeant, a stunning redhead, mused.

 

Teker prints for der records, and give ‘er wot-for wiv the tit-clamp will yer?” came her rhetorical instruction.

 

As the shapely twenty-year old blonde undid the laces forming the bib of Seraphima’s maid’s dress, she and her companion had giggled excitedly with exchanges of raised eyebrows at Seraphima’s very evident size.

 

Sweeping the top of the dress aside, they had gasped as the full erotic enormity of the treasure chest of breathtaking breasts with which Seraphima was blessed, was revealed to them.

 

“God, you’ve got a fuckinbootiful pair on yer”, the leading copette sighed, No fuckin’ wonder all the girls go for yer!”

 

“Look luv. We don’t wannaurt yer none: not really.”

 

“First we is gonna tek yer prints, for der records like. And, when we’ve dun dose, if yer wanna mek it easy on yerself, yer can simply sign a confess”, the pretty copette routinely bribed; or tried to.

 

Seraphima, terrified though she was, shook her lowered lovely head in a positive negative.

 

Then Seraphima’s sensitive nostrils had been assaulted by a smell she associated with the altar at the convent.

 

The truth of that association was proven as she was next turned, her lovely arms pulled up hard straight, as levers behind her, and her trunk forced down to make her press her bared breasts onto the two heated candle-wax wafer squares, prepared and spaced, on separate trays, on a desk behind her.

 

As her brown-pink nipples were scalded in the hot red wax, Seraphima screamed, and fought to rise. But the copettes were skilled at restraint, and made her hold her nipples in the wax until it had cooled, and was thereafter twice hollowed, by the twice hallowed shape, of Seraphima’s nipples’ imprints.

 

As she was allowed to rise, tender tears trickled down Seraphima’s heavenly cheeks.

 

And yet, as she was allowed to rise, she watched, fascinated, as the junior of the two copettes used a sort of pastry-cutter to circle-out around the imprints, and, as she cast the remainder of the red wax back into a bubbling melting pot, carefully knifed under and set aside the two resulting circles centred by the mirror impressions of Seraphima’s impressive nipples.

 

“Day’s unique” said the leading blonde copette. “Each girl’s got different nipple prints. Yer nipple prints is as unique to you as is yer finger prints. Of cause both men and women ‘as got fingers and nipples, but we tek the nipple prints off of de girls, cos there ain’t no man got nipples quite like wot a girl ‘as, see”.

……………..

 

“NO! NO! NO!!” Seraphima screamed as the wing-nuts were again turned slowly, right, left, and middle in turn, three full turns, to tighten the pressure on her titanic tits yet still further.

 

Her agony’s agony made her holler with the pain, as her massively swollen nipples felt like they had just exploded.

 

“I’ll confess! I’ll confess! I’ll confess!” she shouted, as the pain grew at last too much for her bare tits to bear.

 

“Yea, yea!” the sergeant sneered. “We’ll tek the clamp offa yer, when we is sure you ain’t gonna change yer mind. You’ll wish yer’d never ‘ad no tits by when der next ‘arf-hour is gone-by darlin’”.

………………..

 

“Let the accused enter the court!”

 

Seraphima’s toes, her big toes, were squashed into tiptoe clamps. She must walk on the top-tips of her big toes, with those toes clamped into compressed steel rings, which then tapered down and belled out to form the circles, like hooves, on which she must walk.

 

The steel rings holding her tall, were chain-linked together, and had huge heavy steel balls trailing and dragging inescapably behind her.

 

On her lovely head was a steel ring worn like a crown. Down from the back of it hung chains to which her wrists were girlacled. A short chain between those girlacles, kept her wrists together at the top of the cleavage of her bottom.

 

As if they had a life and potential freedom, independent of her, as indeed, to a considerable degree they had, Seraphima’s nipples had had rings forced through, and multiple chains ran from these nipple rings in a vain attempt to corral and tame, hold and control, the natural wildness of her tits.

 

The rings in her nipples were chained firstly, to the front of the ‘crown’ on her head. Then also, to a brutally tight steel waist-belt that squashed Seraphima down to a nine-inch hourglass middle.

 

In order to stop their independence and the freedom of each tit from the other, her nipples also had chains to link her tits together.

 

To counterbalance the chain linking her nipples, and support it in the hopeless fight to contain and restrain and restrict the freedom of her tits, another chain ran from each nipple ring around her back.

 

To further wrestle with and wrest from them, the freedom of her tits, yet another chain fastened to her nipple rings, ran around her neck and tried to hold her heavy tits up to tame them in that direction too.

 

And behind all these chains, her tits were clamped in a pair of padlocked rigid barbell-girlacles, that squeezed them hard at their middles to try and hold them in check.

 

And in the final hopeless endeavour to tame her titanic tit’s wild wanton wilfulness, each nipple ring had a quarter-pound dangling lead weight pulling the breast down and trying to force it to yield its capacious rapacious freedom to contained and controlled captivity.

 

An extremely tight crupper-chain divided and ruled over Seraphima’s lower lips. As she struggled to wiggle, naked bar her cruel chains, her legs a profound profusion of perturbingly powerfully provocative conspicuously carnal curves, to the accused’s stand, at the front of the judge’s bench, the long fronds of her floor-draping flawless pubic hair blessed the courtroom floor.

 

“Let the accused enter the court!”, came the final feminine cry, followed by a gasp as Seraphima’s inescapable wonder, struggled, in the ‘chink’ and ‘chank’ and ‘clink’ and ‘clank’ of her cruel chains, to come before the judge.

 

“May it please your worship, the second case before this court today, is that of Miss Seraphima Diablos Desiree, for occasioning, with malice aforethought the cold calculated planned and repeated rape of her mistress and superior”, the court clerk recited from a clipboard.

 

Seraphima’s proud head was now slowly raised, to look at the judge, who sat with her spectacularly spectral face, with delicious freckles dancing over her pretty nose, her ice-green eyes glowing with her overwhelming femininity, her hair, a torrent of teasing pleasing tumbling copper-gold curls flowing fulsomely down to the ground below where she sat, and her sex sundered by the apex of the splitter on her seat, to remind her to be evenly divided when dispensing justice.

 

Teasetta was being given another chance by her assessors. If she really wanted to gain promotion to the WIGGLE, Teasetta must not fluff it this time.

………………..

 

Seraphima Diablos Desiree, before me as I speak is a full confession bearing a red wax seal in signature which, I am assured and am therefore fully satisfied, is of wax impressed by the unique imprint of one of your exceptionally exquisite nipples.”

 

“Also before me, and also bearing an affirmatory red wax seal formed from the unique imprimatur of your naked nipple, is your formal anticipatory acceptance of the sentence this court will hand down today, for the crime, the preamble of this second formally sealed and thus signed document, confirms that you unreservedly, irreversible, incontrovertibly, and irrevocably plead ‘very guilty’ to.”

 

Teasetta’s husky purring-kitten-in-a-mink-fur-rug voice, rang crystal clarity around the hushed silence of the court: a silence only punctuated by the clink of one of the many chains that tried hopelessly helplessly uselessly to hold them in check, as Seraphima breathed and her tits proved their continuing freedom to roam.

 

And in the intonation Teasetta employed, only Seraphima could recognise the particular status of arousal enjoyed, by the titian-tressed wonder.

 

Seraphima Diablos Desiree, you have confessed of your own free will, before the indisputably honest honoured witness of those brave and selfless upholders of the girl-laws, the pride of this and every town in England, the noble copettes of the Girl-Police, to the unforgivable crime of rape of a fellow girl, and worse, of a fellow girl you skilfully, wilfully, sinfully, prised from the highly prized and rightly honoured state of dutiful matrimony”.

 

In answer to the intonation Seraphima knew, told of the toll of the rising fever of the fervour with which the pressure of her divided slit, parted by the ‘splitter’ which sundered her wonder, was provoking and stoking the astounding Teasetta, Seraphima too found her mystery moistening.

 

“You, Seraphima Diablos Desiree, are an evil schemer. You used the astonishing beauty of your body and face, and above and beyond all, the compelling wonder of your negress’ beautiful lips, to entice and entangle a married woman. Dressing at all times to maximise induction of seduction, you employed your breasts and your long lovely, extremely shapely, legs, to ensnare that poor innocent of the charms of young girls like yourself, away from the straight and narrow course of having her curl-stubbled fallow field furrowed and seeded by her male husband’s penile ploughshare, in the natural order of coitus in the approved missionary position, to the heinous sin of female mutual masturbation!” 

 

As she sensed and scented the arousal to approaching orgasm of her darling love, divided but clearly not overruled by the two-centuries old splitter, on which her sainted scented centre was copiously cascading its aroma Arabic in such abundance, that Teasetta was all but foaming from her pretty little mouth too, Seraphima also anointed the appointed punishment that divided her girl lips and held imprisoned, by the same strong steel chain, her proboscis clitoris, trying in vain to uncurl and rise out and up from its hood.

 

Seraphima Diablos Desiree, this court, without hesitation, accepts both your confession, and your confirmation of the acceptability to you, of any sentence that is handed down in recognition of your right and proper plea of ‘very guilty’ of the repeated rape of an innocent married woman”.

 

As her breathing grew heavier, the heavy weights fighting to contain the wilful wildness of Seraphima’s tits, tortured her to the climax Teasseta’s cruel words were mounting both girls to, in simultaneous stimulation from the simulcritude to oral and aural sex, that the olfactory musk of both girls’ enticing cunt spice, in its shining wetness on the wood of the splitter and the steel of the chain divider teaser, respectively, bore wet witness too.

 

Seraphima Diablos Desiree, the sentence of this court is that you be returned to the bowels of the coalmines from which it has been wholly the misfortune of this world that you were ever allowed to rise, and there be cast down in an eternity of its all-enveloping blackness, to work 24/7 as a bound pitponygirl for all eternity, unless and until such time as your body, which will be photographed in all intimate detail, including the intricate insides of the vile devil between your incredibly horny legs, and displayed on the internet, can be sold to the highest bidder, and the proceeds of its sale, for whatever purpose it may be bought for, paid in wholly inadequate recompense to the husband of the poor girl whose holy body you so unforgivably foully defiled.”

 

At this last gasping breathless deathless sentence, Seraphima hung her head and Teasetta hid her tears. And both in the sighing cry that Seraphima emitted in potent emotion at her sentence, and in the commotion from the assembled public at its pronouncement: commotion that hid the hyperventilating gasping of Teasetta as she teased out her final words, before she squeaked squawked and squealed with what was taken as outrage, there was disguised the distinction of the score by eros and venus both, of sympathetic simultaneous tsunamic comings of cums, that only two such creatures as these: creatures twain but purely and properly spiritually sexually same in their wonderful wonder as the epitome of girl, could endure and enjoy in the succulence of their salivating mysterious all-powerful aromatically Arabian scented centres.

[to be continued….]

 


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