View Full Version : Farewell My Panties

Eve Adorer
05-20-2007, 07:49 PM
Farewell My Panties
(by Eve Adorer)

In her own down-to-earth language, telling it as it was, Ima looks back at a life that developed from walking boring street beat patrol as a uniformed law-enforcement officer, to exciting undercover detective work, and then to her biggest case yet after becoming a private eye….

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.

Farewell My Panties
(by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 2 – Tec

Even as I was a dyin’ with orgasmin’ on stage at Letme O’Lick’s strip joint, my fellow copettes undercover in the audience, led by Captainess Ophelia Snatch herself, rounded up Feelinsideskia Clitoriskia and her gang.

It made headlines. I became a star copette. I got me a leadin’ article in ‘The Probe’, an interview on ‘Gettin’ to the Bottom of …..’, and a picture in the blue frame of fame of ‘Titular’ magazine: a picture of me naked, so the world could see the beautiful heroine copette in all her god-given glory.

That was now three years history.

As soon as that case was overed, I’d felt I needed out.

Okay, I’d enjoyed fame some. But even bein’ surrounded by pretty teenage girls beggin’ your autograph on their panties, still warm cos they’re still wearin’ them, and a whisperin’ what they’d like to do for you in bed, gets a mite tiresome time.

Bein’ a so-called ‘heroine’ fades with clock-tock too.

I was bendin’. Bottom drawer included the zees. I was filin’ the CD-R on the Zodiac Case. It had been my best so far. Madam Gypsy O’Swami had made dreams come true usin’ date-dupe drugs.

But that was just meanin’ that the only dreams she’d fulfilled was her own. Usin’ the drugs had prevented evidence. Pretty girls came outta her place without their panties, somehowin’ that they’d been thoroughly licked out, but with no recall.

I’d planted a transmit-spy-bug under O’Swami’s crystal ball. The consequent movie-pic of me bein’ date-raped had sensationed the court and gotten O’Swami, two-years in the cage.

Nowtime, on the wall behind my chair was a glass-front frame holdin’ my copette’s gold-thong and medallion. I’d wanted out even before the thong award ceremony. But agreed in the end, that it was not polite to leave without my panties on.

Where I was now, was 13-stair-steps up at 38E Fakir Street, an apartment-cum-office.

I’d had the glass top-panel of the outer door painted white letters my name and business.

That day that door stood open some to let the coolin’ fan blow the goddam fug somewheres other than round and back offa the steamin’ seemin’ walls.

The light in the hallway was makin’ my door, cast shadow my carpet floor. The glass frame was floor projected parallelogram. ‘Ima Dike – Private Detective’ was black shadow floor same where it was white painted door. I was Private Eye now.

I was bendin’. Bottom drawer of my filin’ cab included the zees. I was filin’ the CD-R on the Zodiac Case.

I was in my favourite business-girl suite. Dark blue jacket and micro-skirt with darker-blue pinstripe, save that I was blouse in the humidity heat? I wasn’t thinkin’ none about how bendin’ was confirmin’ me genuine blonde, tail as well as top, leastin’ not till I rose again and found myself sudden deep blushin’.

She musta glided in like a ghost. I eyed the lead-sperm-ejaculator I’d left at right-corner my desk in its strapon. I shoulda never been so careless with my shooter, but the doll dame didn’t seem no trouble.

A contralto of pure opera purred pussy-kitten: “I didn’t like to knock. Seein’ your gun ready on the desk like that. I thought ‘accident’ if I made you jump by startlin’ you some”, the delicious dame apologised.

Oh my gee, but was she somethin’ else: though nothin’ else other than girl plenty! Twenty? She was five-four with a figure caressed so tight by a goddam lucky dress, the wonder was the wonder could breath: breath-takin’ tight.

My breath was taken sure, as I auto-ogled her toes to top. The platform mules with their twelve-inch heels, the stockin’ on the stupendous left leg flashin’ lithe live outta the side-slit in her ankle-length hug-gown, the belt round her no-waste waist, her hand-purse, the finger-tips to elbows silk gloves, and the spider-web veil down from the pillbox hat that angled on her empress’ head, were all in taxicab-yellow.

Imperial was her face, with dark-brown eyes lookin’ down on ya like they was favourin’ you with mercy not to have ya top lopped axe. She was a negress of somethin’ like Ethiopian origin, with a head of close-cropped oh boy no boy oh joy curls, the prettiest petite shell-likes with sparklin’ diamond clip-on earrings, a bod top-heavied but still streamline feline, thirty-six firm, twenty-two middle, thirty-five wiggle, and a smile that said gentle sweetness was behind the imperious apparent.

This doll had princess-presence, and I almost reflexed a curtsey, she seemed so queenly.

An adorable giggle told me I had reacted in a way she was useta.

“Hi. I’m Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya?” the angel smile-intro’d, holdin’ her hand-purse left mit, while extendin’ her now degloved right pretty, to let me touch her long fingers in intro shake.

I dared to touch her delightful tips and felt megawatts bolt my spine, as she giggle-smiled again when I all but bent to kiss the back of her hand.

I took deep breath: the breath she’d stunned outta me. I knew I’d gotta get on toppa this, situation-wise, and moment dreamed get ontop of this chick I wished already.

“What canna I do for you lady?” I casualled, pretend assured confident.

“Murder”, the vision replied, with cool calm charm.

Realisin’ there was nothin’ in it for me if that was what she was wantin’ detect, bar the joy of the presence of this damned beautiful presence, and thinkin’ I’d as well get back to my filin’, I dismiss-informed:

“Lady…..: homicide; matricide; infanticide; regicide; even suicide: any ‘ides’ both sidesa the ides of March, is for the cops not for me ….”

“No” said the golden gorgeous, “No. I mean I want you to murder someone for me.”

‘Loony toon crackpot sad-case no-case go-home’, I spat insidea my mind, and maybe with my eyes, as I nexted:

“Oh yea. Like who d’ya want me to Lee Harvey, if’n it ain’t the president herself you want me to Oswald?”

“Me”, said the sublime princess: “I want you to kill me.”

Shocked was silence as this beauty of beauties continued her sunny smile.

Stunned, I indicated chair and watched with fascination as supreme dream perched her perky derriere and revealed full sumptuous stockinged leg and diamond decorated suspender clasp when she crossed her left leg over her still dress-skirted right, showin’ thigh the size of the sighs in my eyes as I looked the strength of their long length in longin’.

I suspected her ‘murder me’ was just an attention grabber. And it was no problem at all to pay attention’s homage to this honey.

‘Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya’. I’d heard or read that recent. Where was it? What was it? Who was she? I wanted ‘be there’ afore she told me. Then it came shaft-lightenin’ - the ‘Nubian Nipple’. Oh my god! That was it! The ‘Nubian Nipple’ stolen then sold to the Lola-Dillinger gang. The ‘Nubian Nipple’, the biggest friggin’ ruby the world had ever seen.

And ‘Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya’ – she was only 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!

“Please call me ‘Merinda’”, smiled the lovely who’d clearly read my mind and realised what I’d realised.

“Why a hick dick like me?” I asked, breath taken again.

“Anonymity”, Merinda answered, her perfect white teeth contrastin’ her Nubian negro grace face. The bold lips of her tiny tidy mouth mesmerised my eyes. When she whisper-spoke it was with kisses, like her lips were utterin’ utterly beautiful fragrant flutterin’ butterflies.

“You also come highly recommend too. You’ve won the copette’s gold medallion and the gold thong. No former copette comes more recommended than that”, Merinda convidenced.

“Nobody knows I’m here in New Edingow yet”, she continued.

“The gossip columns will spill the beans anytime now, or would if I hadn’t been sneaked into the USA. I need someone on the inside. Lola has got the ruby you obviously must have read about, even though it made no real splash here – the one they call ‘the Nubian Nipple’? ……”

“What was all that stuff about a murder?” I queried.

“Mmm.” Merinda looked concerned. My momma will know it isn’t true. I do so hate to deceive my people this way though…. It’d be triggered by a code word. The announcement would go out back home that I’d contracted a fever and there was fear for my life.”

“You see, we’ve just got to get the ‘Nubian Nipple’ back to Ongeria where it was originally found and where it belongs with Her Supreme Serenity, my dear momma. The ‘Nubian Nipple’ has been worn by the brides of Ongerian royalty since time began. We have the girls who stole it and sold it to Lola….”

Somethin’ chillin’ in Merinda’s tone made me glad I was none of those thievin’ girls.

“So it wouldn’t really be a murder you… I mean you and I would be committin’: just a deception that I was down with a contagion and bound to stay hidden away in Ongeria, so as to disguise that I am really over here”, Merinda continued.

“So: where do I fit in?” I questioned.

“It needs someone on the inside. Lola is lookin’ to pay the City a compliment for all it has done for her…..” Merinda continued.

I gave her my ‘what the hell do you know about Lola?’ look. Merinda fielded it and tossed it back to me.

“I know all about Lola. I graduated at New Edingow State, takin’ my doctorate in music there. Lola donated the Hall of Residence I lived in.”

“I know she’s tryin’ to make all she’s done in the past, look legitimate now. Her latest ruse is that she’s offered to provide and fund some ponygirls for the New Edingow Police Department, ready for the annual autumn fall parade in Central Park …..”

“So: where do I fit in?” I innocented….

….and then the cent dropped….

“Oh no you don’t!” I said. “Oh no! No no no no no!”

“You’re an exceptionally attractive girl” Merinda continued. “I read about your exploits on the ‘Titular’ magazine website. Gold medal and gold thong: the police department would have you back from private eye anytime. They’d leap at the chance to have you in their stables if you were to volunteer pony.”

I can’t tell a lie. As this lady spieled her reel, I was blushin’ cos I was wishin’ I’d put on some panties that mornin’ as I woulda done if it were not so darned hot. But I was wishin’ for panties now, cos I was salivatin’ at the thought of bein’ made pony…. I’d gotten the fires of hell in my beelzebub and needed cool down…”

“I ain’t messin’ none with the Lola-Dillinger mob”, I extinguishered. “Lola eats the likes of me for breakfast and then craps them out same day dead. It’s way too big for little ol’ me. I ain’t suicidal.”

“Since I went gumshoe, I got a good business goin’. Even if Lola didn’t mincemeat me, she’s gotten contacts as would ruinize me. I gotta have the cops on my side. Lola’s got top cops lickin’ her slit. Soon as Lola got whisper I was lookin’ to trouble her some, my P.I. licence would be confetti at a paper shredders’ weddin’”.

“No: I ain’t messin’ none with the mob….”, I repeated.

“Not for one-million dollars?” Merinda persuaded.

“You’d not be alone in there. I’ve been breakin’ girls to pony since I was a young teen. We’d volunteer as a package. You as the would-be pony, me as a trainer and chief stable-girl. The NEPD are already in on this. They’ve let Lola know that this package – you with me - is on offer for her gift to the City, without lettin’ Lola know where the info came from. And don’t worry, only trustworthy cops know the truth… Ophelia Snatch used to be your sergeantess I believe….”

“Captainess”, I corrected….

“Well, she’s certainly a captain now, and still mighty proud of you Ima”…. Merinda manipulated.

“Okay. Supposin’… only supposin’ I was to say ‘yes’ to this scheme: how does gettin’ me stable-stall as a copette-ponygirl get us anywheres near your precious ‘Nubian Nipple’ ruby, lessen Lola lets me wear it in my navel?” I dampened.

“I can think of no greater honour for the ‘Nubian Nipple’ than that you should wear it Ima”, Merinda sincered with her tiny bold-lipped mouth kissin’ out every word, as I blushed red rose to my toes.

“Lola donated the cop’s ponygirl stables. The stables are ground-floor of one of Lola’s New Edingow City homes. My gettin’ taken on as a stable-girl, gets me among Lola’s servants and thus, with luck, near to the ruby. I locate the ruby for sure, grab it, bag it, and then leave for Ongeria ….”, Merinda made simple soundin’.

“There’s just one problem …… How do we know Lola will not recognise you princess?” I doubtized.

“She will if you call me ‘princess’”, Merinda gentled with a smile that was pure love.

“Look Ima…. the theft of the ‘Nubian Nipple’ took place in Ongeria. You know of it because you’re an efficient and effective private investigator keepin’ an eye on the newswires, and with police contacts listin’ to you, both stolen property and its probable recipients.”

“I’m afraid we had to interrogate the thieves. When a girl’s hangin’ from the ceilin’ by her clit, with a barbed-wire cat o’ nine-tails bein’ heated to red-hot ready to be used on her tits, she soon tells the truth.”

“That truth is, that all Lola knows is that she’s gotten this beautiful ruby; not where it comes from or what its known as. Where it came from and what it is, made the newswires, but it wasn’t news actually anywheres appearin’ in the USA that day or any day….. It was too minor compared with Hurricane Zanta. Lola will not even have ever heard of Ongeria: least that’s our best bet.”

“A million dollars US?” I asked for sureness.

“How about a million Ongerian dollars…… and a kiss?” Merinda countered.

“But that’s half as much again!” I exclaimed.

“And the kiss?” Merinda queried as she rose to close my office door to secure our intimate privacy, and worked her spider web veil up from over her adorable face.

As she came back toward me, stood waitin’ as I was, I hung my head in pure ecstasy of anticipation. I raised my eyes to look longingly into those of the lovin’ lovely princess, only as I felt her sweet breath rufflin’ my foreheaded blonde fringe.

As Merinda looked steadily haughtily at me, my eyes swung side-to-side wild with wantin’ focus on a love that would not hurt me.

Then I offered my mouth for whenever she might deign to anoint it with a prayer from her natural constant-kiss-pose-poised negress’ lips.

“No Ima…..” Merinda honeyed. “No Ima….. your other lips first…..”


I was confused. Who wouldn’t be? Three-months on and I was still awonderin’ why, I’d volunteered to go undercover this way.

But, hey, I’d gotten other problems now.

I seemed to be livin’ offa porridge three times a day. It was great for me keepin’ my figure trim. It gets a bit borin’ though. But, when you get to realisin’ that that is all your gonna get to eat, lessen some bran or apple cores, or carrot tops, you eat it.

On my head, they were keepin’ both sides my hair mown down like blonde corn-stubble, and lettin’ the middle grow long, and then brushin’ the middle over one side, kinda like I hada horse’s mane?

Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya had charge over me, she was also teachin’ two pretty little copettes who were innocent of the undercover mission we was on: Loretta and Nina: trainin’ them as stable-girls, all at Lola’s expense, so she could donate the City with us as part of her ‘gone clean from crime’ new image.

Merinda knew what she was doin’ trainin’ pony, that I did know. There was, of course, some kinda deadline they were aimin’ for: we were aimin’ for, save that I was now outta the plannin’ loop, though not outta the plan.

Of course I asks Merinda and the other stable-girls what was goin’ down, but they’d never answer, only put a mark on a whiteboard, and then give my ass as many strap-whip lashes as is on the whiteboard at the enda the day. So you’ll hafta ‘scuse me, that I soon stopped askin’ none no more. That strap-whip really hurt, and so did the bruises for days after.

I’d cry myself to sleep after I’d been given a whippin’ by Merinda. She knew how to whip a girl intimately, so as it really hurt.

I was in stables and slept in a stall standin’ on straw.

Least I didn’t hafta worry none about groomin’.

I coulda used some warm water ‘stead of the cold they used, but Loretta and Nina would take me in the yard ‘n hose me down and soap me head-to-foot every mornin’ at five o’ clock. They kept my mane brushed on my head, and the curls round my sluice, and brushed my teeth.

I was longin’ to have Loretta or Nina trim my bikini-line and shave my legs and armpits, but they seemed to be minded to let my armpits, my bush, and my legs go back to nature.

I hated that first off, but I got to find it kinda beautiful when I could feel the fine gold filigree on my thighs and calves a flutterin’ in the gentle breeze that blew the stables’ yard. And when it was cool mornin’s, I was mighty glad of the little hair my all-o********-fuelled very feminine body had on it.

Walkin’ in my shoes, I’d gotten used to over that three months to now.

They were darned heavy hangin’ on my big toes like they did. My big toes each had a shoe hangin’ from it. All my other toes dangled free. They was free to dangle, cos the way my shoes were fitted I had to be standin’ and walkin’, and even runnin’, right up on tiptoe, full-time, all-time, lessen I wanted my big toes broke: which I did not!

Each shoe I wore was of iron and steel. My big toes were trapped in clamps. The top end was shaped like an upside-down question mark ‘?’. Where the dot of the upside-down ‘?’ is, was connected hollow tube, split one side, with a band around and a tightenin’ lock-screw.

So my big toes were pushed into the hollow tube down to the second section of my toe, soas the first section with my toenail was wigglin’ free still. Then the side-screws tightened the split tube round the enclosed section of my big toe, keepin’ it tight-gripped, soas to hold my hooves to my big toes permanent.

The first curved bit of the upside-down ‘?’ was of springy steel, so it took some of the impact as I walked trotted or ran in my heavy hooves.

Screwed to the middle of the curved part of the spring-steel upside-down ‘?’ curved bit, was a solid heavy circular hardwood block, weighted inside with lead.

These internally-weighted hardwood blocks, had chamfered sides: sides slopin’ so that they were bigger diameter nearer the ground than they were where my clamped big toes dangled middle above their circular shape.

As I walked or whatevered with these blocks on my feet, the spring in the upside-down ‘?’ was such that my big toe ends would touch down on the block with every step, before springin’ up again when I lifted my pretty foot.

By this means: by means of havin’ my big toes clamped to these heavy blocks, I stood or walked, or trotted, with my feet pointin’ straight down; further spring in my steps bein’ provided by the arches of the soles of my bare feet, my legs bein’ locked in beyond en pointe, more ballerinered than a pirouettin’ ballerina’s, and one-hundred-percent-permanently up sky high, showin’ the full beauty in the incredibly erotic shape this sculptured my long legs inta.

And nailed to the bottom of each of the two heavy hardwood wooden block hooves clamped to my feet, were, as befits a ponygirl, iron pony shoes.

I wore hooves with nailed-on iron pony shoes on my tiptoed big toes. I was bein’ made ponygirl like Merinda had said would happen when I accepted her case.

Of course I was tacked out pony when I was bein’ trained.

Most time though, I only wore my hooves and the steel stocks or cangue that kept my pretty arms stretched-out helplessly cruciform.

Light-blue leather seemed to be the theme of my harness. The cangue had a central neck-brace, a leather tube, of thick leather, that held my chin up straight, so as I could only look horizonwards. It braced my neck and held my chin soas I couldn’t turn my head neither way.

The arms of this stocks was curved soas they rested on my shoulders before stretchin’ out either side of me to hold my arms up liken I was crucified. Only my wrists was through padlocked leather wristlets at the ends of their spread, my elbows hung down a little in the middle of each spread, and my pretty hands with their perfectly girlicured nails, dangled down decorative but helpless at the ends.

When they was a trainin’ me, they said I needed to be broken. They said I had too much sass and way too much spirit and they would beat it outta me if’n I didn’t learn to obey. Even Merinda went along with this.

I soon gotten used to the head harness. Light-blue leather straps, and plenty of them, held a round shiny and cold steel-bit between my teeth and over my tongue.

But sometimes when they were angry with my progress bein’ lackin’, they’d make me wear a round ‘O’ bit they called a ‘punishment bit’, so my jaw was stretched wide-open and so my tongue was lollin’ about in my ‘O’ wide-opened mouth. And my jaw hurt terrible. And havin’ my tongue like that would make me dribble saliva all day. It was true horrible when they did that.

Of all the straps of my normal head harness, one tied my bit hard back in my mouth, and another formed a headband that buckled backa my head like the bit-strap did backa my neck.

Backa my head, these two straps, bit and headband, were through loops in two more straps runnin’ vertical, that thus stopped my headband strap slippin’ offa my head.

Then two straps ran up to my headband strap from my bit strap at the side of my lovely face over my heaven-high cheekbones, and these held blinders / blinkers either side my gentle hazel eyes.

The blinders were shaped like reverse capitals ‘D’ with the flat side of the ‘D’ furthest from the side of my head. My headband had a middle slot for some decorative plumes if’n they were wanted, only I never wore none in trainin’.

The headband also had my name on it. I’d gotten used to no longer bein’ ‘Ima Dike’. I’d had to. They’d whip my ass if’n I didn’t answer to what they called my ‘pony name’.

To my stable-girls, Loretta and Nina, and all those lookin’ after me in the stables, I was now ‘Hotcrack’, and it said as much in a plaque over my stall as wellas the band crossin’ my forehead when I was in my bridle.

Merinda and the two rookie copettes showed no mercy breakin’ me.

Every day all the daylight hours for the past three months I’d been in a high walled field neighbourin’ the stable yard goin’ round and round and round in a circle in my hooves, my cruciform neck-brace, and my bridle with bit: sometimes the punishment bit.

Merinda put me through basic ponygirl trainin’ whilst breakin’ my spirit same time.

Loretta, Nina, and even Merinda herself would oversee me learnin’ to walk, trot, run, and lope to voice command.

I was tethered by a rein on one side of my mouth-bit to an arm above my head that came out of a central rotatin’ pony trainer. The only time they would unhitch me, was when they wanted me go the other way: clockwise instead of anticlockwise, or elsen vice versa.

And they didn’t mess none. If I took a wrong step or stumbled or didn’t go the right pace or gotten tired, they whipped my ass with a four-foot long strap-whip that had a kiss like a million hornets’ stingin’ ya.

In my early days they slapped my ass with that darned whip till my bruises bruises had bruises on their bruises bruises.

Hot or cold, rain or shine, they drove me and drove me and drove me clip-cloppin’ round and round and round, and flogged my ass into the next state if’n I showed any twitch of resistance.

I’d never knowed it was to be this real. It was. I was bein’ really made pony and no reservation.

I thought I was fit afore I was bein’ made pony, but this trainin’ found me short.

To get my legs in trim, they put obstacles around my circuit. And I hadta leap several hurdles the tops of which were wrapped around with barbed wire: so god help my soft smooth flawless feminine flesh if’n I didn’t clear hurdle right each time, every time.

I suffered too from ‘tit slap’. I’m a big girl up top, and runnin’ nude, despite my arms bein’ uplifted, my tits, bein’ all as nature provided, would flip flop on my chest as I jumped and trotted.

I’m a firm girl, but my tits rest natural with their undersides on my middle chest. Without a bra to restrain them, they went wild as I was made to walk, trot, run, and leap hurdle, rollin’ on my chest and liftin’ flippin’ and flappin’ and slappin’ down. And I woulda never complained none, cos I loved this happenin’ cos it reminded me all the time I was bein’ tortured that I was a girl.

At night they tethered me standin’ in my stall cos I had to sleep standin’ up now I was ponygirled.

My hooves stayed on 24/7, but they took my arm holder off.

They also took off my bridle till I’d eaten and drank some. They girlackled my wrists behind me though, so I had to eat and drink water with my mouth and tongue alone, outta troughs in my stall.

Then they put a rubber gag bit ‘tween my teeth, and tethered me to the ceilin’ of my stall, with my hands still girlackled behind my back, so I couldn’t pleasure myself none, and my ankles girlackled close. That’s the position in which I hadta learn to sleep, and it ain’t easy to sleep standin’ up: believe me!

My teachin’ to be pony meant I hadta also learn to piss and shit animal.

I just hadta piss and shit when and where I could. And I’d piss the straw in my overnight stall, and it’d eventually end up tricklin’ down and twirlin’ round my curvy legs’ thighs and calves, but would never be enough to wash it off if I’d shit on myself, as that’d cake my asshole, my thighs and my calves, stinkin’ all night as I tried to sleep.

That was real horrible for me, but I knew I hadta get used to it.

“Well how’s it goin’ with ‘Hotcrack’, Merinda?” I heard a voice I knew to be the true spit and tonsil of Lola herself one mornin’ late on in my breakin’-in as a pony.

I shifted in my stall, well behind her and outta her sight, all disturb on accounta the presence of my sponsor, and wantin’ to see what she looked like.

I now listened intent, like a good private dick should, and neighed not a word.

Merinda’s sweet contralto purr came next.

“Hotcrack is comin’ on real well. Loretta and Nina have done most the work, with my guidin’ oversight.”

“We’ve got a good pair of stable-girls there.”

“We’re gonna train Hotcrack to the tit-reins startin’ this mornin’. We start now to mix a bit of kindness to go with the punishment. It usually brings them on in leaps and bounds; or should that be ‘trots and lopes’?”

“I got an hour before I need report to business….”, said the voice I just somehowed was Lola’s.

“’Fraid you won’t see much in that hour, bar god’s own beauty bein’ hosed down for to start her day. But, if we get a move on, maybe midday you’ll get to see how she reacts to the tit-reins and if she’s gonna learn them quick or slow”, Merinda mused.

“Okay. I’ll skip it for now, and maybe drop in lunchtime” says Lola.

“That’ll be fine. But Hotcrack’ll still be learnin’ tit-rein obedience then. It’ll go on all day”, says Merinda.

And I sobs quietly, no longer feelin’ such a brave P.I. no more. Not sure how much more of this torture I can take despite the million dollars headin’ for my bank account.

But I have my pride and I don’t show how I’m feelin’ as they hose me down in the stable yard, payin’ attention to gettin’’ my overnight shit offa my now fine-soft-gold-hair-down covered legs.

And a new determination to be the bestest ponygirl in the US of A comes over me. And I don’t know what they’re gonna teach me next, but I’m darn well gonna show them I can learn and learn good.

And I’m put in my arm spreader again, and a new bridle with a mouth-bit I ain’t had afore.

It was real horrible that bit. It was like my normal trainin’ bit. It was round in profile and straight solid steel. But it was longer and stuck out either sidea my mouth. And what was horrible, real horrible, was that there was a slot right through the middle of the bit. And, as it was slid into my mouth, I was made to put my tongue through that slot, soas when they tied this new mouth-bit at the backa my neck, my tongue was imprisoned with only its tip stickin’ out.

Merinda explained to the stable-girls she was also trainin’ that this was what was called a ‘good-girl’ bit, cos it ensured a supersensitivity of the mouth to commands from reins, if’n mouth-reins was to be used. But that even if the pony was to be in tit-reins, the extra sensitivity of the mouth was of benefit: not least if she was to pull a cart and would thus be at some distance from her driver.

And they was strappin’ this at the back of my neck, and fittin’ the rest of my new bridle with side-blinders, and headband with my name: ‘Hotcrack’ in bold red on the light-blue leather they are harnessin’ me in as ever.

And I’m feelin’ even less brave now.

And this ‘good-girl’ bit has got two rings, one on each end, where each end juts out wider than my pretty face. These ‘Os’ are standin’ wider than the cheeks of my lovely face. And Merinda’s gotten two gold rings in her hands and she’s teachin’ Loretta and Nina as she’s tackin’ me out pony.

“Now take a close look at these” Merinda says to Loretta and Nina, “As you’ll see, each of these rings has a spring steel spike leadin’ down from where there is a hinge to complete the ring’s circle. The spike is bifurcated, I mean it is split into two.”

“Now then. There is a clamp around the end of the bifurcated spike just at present ……there……do you see? It has a little side handle see? And…… And…. As….. as I slide that clamp up the forked spike….see!”

“Did you see that as well Loretta? See. I slide the clamp up toward the nipple-ring, and the bifurcated spike opens out in opposite directions like a flower openin’ its petals, and then….. Then…..if I can just get a hold of it… this one’s new and a bit stiff…. That’s got it. Then it comes back together again, when I slide the clamp toward the tip of the needle: …. just… hang on….. Right…. There…. Like that see?”

“Now, we introduce the tip of the needle into Hotcrack’s’ nipple’s milk-hole so….and we push the needle in as we slide the clamp up, and the needle bifurcates inside of Hotcrack’s’ breast as the needle pierces her delightful flesh, and she ends up with a ring danglin’ from her right nipple….. like……. there we are….. like….hold her…… yep…. that’s got it…. like so: see?”

With my head held up by my neck cangue and my side blinkers, all I knew of what Merinda was doin’ to my tit, was the pain as the needle went into the milk-hole in my nipple and then bit into my inner tit as the one needle divided and curved into two to grip inside my tit to hold the ring firm up against the central tip of my huge pink nipple.

And I’m feelin’ frightened now.

“Okay now Loretta, would you like to fit the nipple-bit to Hotcrack’s left tit please?”

And Loretta tries to be gentle insertin’ the dividin’ needle into my left nipple to hold a ring in that nipple. It hurts me all the more for that, and her bein’ inexpert of course, and Nina and Merinda are havin’ to hold tight on the lead-reins fixed to the ‘Os’ either side of my good-girl bitted mouth, as I dance a sexy ‘clip-clop’ with my strong shapely legs on the cobblestone paved stable yard.

“You take this lead-rein now please Loretta. Hotcrack seems a bit frisky this mornin’,” says Merinda.

And then she continues: “These here are the tit-reins. Now, you’ll see immediately that they are not strictly ‘reins’, as in plural, at all. In reality they are one rein, with dog-leash like clips at either end. This particular one is a trainin’ rein. Real reins vary in length in accordance with whether the pony is to be ridden solo, or to pull cart solo, or to be teamed up with other ponygirls to pull carriage”.

“Now, you’ll have to turn around to watch me as I go behind Hotcrack, and feed one dogclipped end through the left side ‘O’ - the ring at one side of her mouth-bit, and….there we go….the other end with dogclip, through the ‘O’ ring at the left side of Hotcrack’s very pretty mouth.”

“And finally……..let me get front again……..and finally….darn… Slip that end of the tit-reins through again will you Nina, if’n you can do that and hold Hotcrack steady at the same time sweetheart…”

“Thank you Nina. …. Now, and finally we open each dogclip and clip the ends of the tit-reins to the rings in Hotcrack’s nipples….. just like…. yea….. ooops…. no…. got it again…. yea… just like that.”

“Now, I think we can take the holdin’ reins offa Hotcrack’s mouth-bit, and we’ll walk her around to teach her, and show you, the tit-reins.”

“Let me show you and her whilst she’s stationary first though.”

“The principles are simple. It’s two tugs for up, and one tug for down, save turnin’ is multi-tugs” says Merinda.

“That’s confusin’ isn’t it? So, let’s go through it step by individual step.”

“You don’t need to be harsh. I pull gently but firmly on the right side of the rein, and it lifts Hotcrack’s right tit. I pull on the left side of the rein and it lifts Hotcrack’s left tit.”

“With Hotcrack havin’ two tits, one left and one right, that is how you give Hotcrack orders to turn left or right when you’ve already gotten her in motion.”

“Only with her tits naturally bouncin’ when she’s in motion, you need to be sure she’s gettin’ the signal and not just experiencin’ her natural bare-tit flip-flops. So, for a right hand turn, you give her right tit a series of pulls right-up like this, so her nipple is pulled right up beyond vertical - back toward her chest and then let go again. See? One, two, three, four, or more…like that….. only not slow like I’ve just done to show you, but quick strong firm but gentle tugs like this: ‘one-two-three-four’ see?”

“And you stop the tuggin’ when she’s obeyed and turned enough. And that way she’ll know she has to stop turnin’ in the direction of the tit you are tuggin’, and go straight ahead once again.”

“Don’t forget, a ponygirl relies entirely on its driver for instruction. She has been broken to total obedience, and will trot slap bang into a brick wall lessen you instruct her to turn or stop!”

“Now: the two tugs versus one business.” Merinda continued as I blushed in deep down shame.

“To get Hotcrack to go, it is two swift tugs on both her tits at once, like this. She’ll then walk. Two more swift sharp tugs, and she’ll know she has to trot. Two more, and she’ll obey the order to run”, Merinda explained.

“Finally, you need to get her down the gears.”

“So, when she’s runnin’, a single swift firm tug on both tits together, will take her back to trot. And another single swift firm tug when she’s trottin’, will take her back to walk. Just like that….see?”

“Of course, you won’t necessarily have time to go down the gears one-by-one when you want her to stop. So to stop her at any time and from any pace, walk, trot, or run, you simply pull up both her tits hard and high and hold them hard and high….. like this!” Merinda concluded as she demonstrated with my beautiful breasts.

Perhaps you can imagine the effect this was havin’ on me, it was so downright cruel demeanin’ dehumanisin’ and insultin’!

No: I was not wild with anger, nor was my spirit so broken I wished I could die.

Far from it. Far from either.

No: I was blushin’, not with pent up anger, but because at this demonstration of how completely I was to be used and abused as an object, rather than an animal let alone a human girl, my succubus was sassed-up with girl-juice wetter than the Nile delta.

And just as this foul use of my body aroused that body to wet my ‘tween legs sluice, so too it whirled my mind so I wondered if’n I was goin’ crazy that this total abuse and vile torture should turn me on so.

Next day, extra care was seemin’ly taken with my washin’ and groomin’, and it was about ten of the mornin’ when they put me in my new bridle with the good-girl bit holdin’ my tongue clamped prisoner.

And I’m in my arm stretch stocks or cangue holdin’ my arms out cruciform with my pretty hands danglin’ decoratively helpless with my wrists in cuffs at the end of the cangue’s arms. With my good-girl bridle still havin’ side-blinder blinkers soas I can only look straight ahead, and not look down neither, cos of my neck brace holdin’ my chin up.

And they’ve checked the nipple-rings were firmly inta my tits.

And a brass band strikes up outside after three bangs on a big bass drum that startles me.

But they calm me as the band plays practice. And their brass is cold, and squawks outta tune and the music keeps stoppin’ and startin’?

And they put somethin’ round my waist and pull it very very tight. It’s a light-blue leather belt I’ve seen as my stable-girls pass it to Merinda. And there are, danglin’-loose, straps front and backa me: danglin’ from this waist belt I heard Merinda call a ‘harness’.

One danglin’ strap tickles the valley in my butt’s cheeks. The other danglin’ strap is in fronta my, by now grown very hairy succubus, with my unkempt tight blonde pubic curls bein’ all over my lower belly and the inside tops of my delicious thighs.

And they’re bashin’ that bass drum again as the band tunes up once more.

And they’re slidin’ two garters up my beautiful left thigh: one to stockin’ top height, ‘ceptin I ain’t wearin’ no stockings of course, and one just above my bent-locked-back-and-thus-dimpled knee.

And I can feel somethin’ firm at the side of my left thigh held there by my upper garter, and somethin’ danglin’ side-o’-my-left-knee from my lower garter.

And they screw-fit a one-foot-long round cold steel dildo to the strap that is presently ticklin’ my ass.

And they screw-fit a one-foot-long round cold steel dildo to the strap that is presently fronta my hairy sluice.

And botha these dildos is two-inches across diameter.

And they purposely make sure as I see these dildos and how massive they is. And Merinda calls them my ass-bit and my twat-bit.

And I’m fightin’ the lead-rein they’re holdin’ me steady with outta fear I can’t take such massive things insidea my body.

And they fight to control me. And they put another lead-rein on my mouth-bit and pull both lead-reins hard so it really hurts my trapped tongue. And that forces me to stand still cos I don’t want my tongue hurt no more.

And they’re greasin’ the dildos and they’re forcin’ the rear one up my ass and it’s hurtin’ oh god it’s hurtin’ its hurtin’ oh please stop it’s hurtin’ and they put the front one insidea my succubus and they push that up me and I scream.

And they join the two straps together. And they fight to pull the back strap through the buckle on the front strap to buckle the straps ‘tween my thighs in my perineum.

And it’s hard and they fight me. And the dildos are goin’ right up me, twelve-inches inta me all the way inta me. And I’m wettin’ my beelzebub at front as they get them all the way in and fasten the strap tight-buckled at my perineum to hold them right up hard inta me.

And I’ve got twelve-inch of dildo up my ass and twelve-inch of dildo up my succubus. And they’re hurtin’ me! And they’re hurtin’ me! And they’re hurtin’ me! All time constant those massive dildos are hurtin’ me!!

And they fit a couplin’ hoop to the strong buckle of the strap ‘tween my wonderful thighs: the strap holdin’ the dildos in me.

And the couplin’ clip is firm at its middle to the buckle of the strap holdin’ my asshole and my succubus dildos hard and full up me.

And the band outside the stable walls, bashes bass drum again.

And I hear lotsa women chattin’ and gigglin’ and high heels a clickin’ as if to a gatherin’.

And they put long tit-reins on me, clippin’ them to my nipple-rings: the rings at the ends of my nipple-bits.

And I’m ordered walk. And I’m a good girl, so I walk. And as I walk I can feel the dildos rotatin’ forward and back again, with the natural gait of my girl-walk now become my pony walk as my succubus and my ass’ sphincter chew on them.

And I’m really terrified as I see they are leadin’ me to a two-wheeled chariot, with huge wood-spoked wood-rimmed rubber-tyred wheels: wheels that mustbe four-foot diameter.

And a seat for two is slung over its non-rotatin’ axle ‘tween the massive wheels. And the seat is on cart springs for a comfortable ride for driver and passenger. And there is a long black carriage whip with its handle in an upright tube holder ready for the driver.

And the chariot has a single round-profile steel shaft some six-feet from cart to end-of-shaft where there is a couplin’.

And the band sounds better as it plays a practice tune almost all through.

And they put tall colour-dyed real feathers as plumage in the headband front where it names me ‘Hotcrack’ ‘cross my forehead. And there are three long tall feathers. And the feathers are patriotic red, white, and blue.

And they make me turn. And I’m fartin’ with fear past my ass dildo as they fasten the shaft of the cart to the couplin’ fastened to the strap over my perineum, the strap holdin’ the massive dildos in me.

And I’m now tethered to the chariot. And I can only look front. And I see that the big doors leadin’ out into New Edingow City’s Central Park are openin’. And I realise it’s Autumn Parade time, hence the band and the crowd a gatherin’.

And I feel movement in the shaft of the chariot I’m tethered to. And I realise someone’s gettin’’ in. and I hear voices talkin’ and just know my driver is Captainess Ophelia Snatch, and her passenger the Chiefette of the New Edingow Police herself.

And Merinda strokes my mane and tells me to be brave. And she says: “Make New Edingow proud of you Hotcrack”.

And Captainess Ophelia Snatch has hold my tit-reins and, with me bein’ six-feet away, is tensionin’ them soas to be sure she is pullin’ my tits to communicate with the pony, that is me pullin’ the chariot.

And I’m peein’ out fronta me with fear. And it’s splashin’ on the cobbles of the stable yard.

And Captainess Ophelia Snatch tugs both my tits up sharp twice and cracks the carriage whip real expert-like over my head and calls “Gee-Upp!”.

And I’m walkin’, I’m walkin’, and I’m pullin’ the chariot like a good little pony.

And I’m bein’ headed outta the stable gates.

And as I’m walkin’ the strap ‘tween my stupendously powerful thighs is pullin’ fore and back. And the dildos are thus goin’ in and out, and in and out, and in and out, of my lower love orifices.

And I’ve pulled the chariot outta the stables’ gates. And the crowd is a cheerin’. And my reins is tugged twice, so my tits are both tugged up twice at once. And the crowd lets out the loudest of loud cheers as I’m now trottin’.

And my legs tiptoed on my big toes clamped in my pony shoe irons have never looked longer nor stronger nor shapelier nor sexier. And my butt is rock firm with huge soft side-dimples from my legs bein’ skyscraper high. And my beautiful hazel eyes are sparklin’ as they look obediently at the horizon. And my tits are slappin’ on my chest. And the whip is cracked over my head to remind me that I’m in its reach, and that it can kiss my ass if I don’t be a good girl.

And I hear the band now playin’ up fronta marchin’ parade. And behind the band leadin’ the parade marchin’ in their tiptoe booties and their light-blue shirts and no bras and no skirts, with all the paraphernalia on their tight waist belts, and flashin’ their light-blue thongs and their cheeky bare asses as they wiggle with their bare breasts under their shirts rollin’ and rockin’ and jumpin’ to the beat of the march, which they march to the beat of the band, are all of New Edingow’s Girl-Control copettes.

And I’m trottin’ up alongside them now towin’ that cart. And the captainess tugs repeat on my left tit with the tit-rein. And I pull the chariot left.

And she pulls on my right tit repeat and I pull the chariot right.

And she gives a single sharp tug on both my tits. And I slow to a walk.

And I’m leadin’ the parade just behind the marchin’ band at a marchin’ pace loose-limbed trot-walk. And my titties are slappin’ my chest, and the dildos are fuckin’ me, in and out, and in and out, and in and outta my love orifices, and rotatin’ back and fore, back and fore, as my asshole and my beelzebub grind on them with my walkin’.

And the band is playin’ ‘The Stars and Stripes Forever’.

And a loud speaker is goin’ with a famous-on-TV woman givin’ a commentary. And she’s sayin’:

“And the honour of leadin’ the traditional spring parade of New Edingow’s finest this year, has switched from the fire service to the New Edingow Police Department.”

“It bein’ the NEPD’s turn to front-up this year, it was for them to choose which of their branches should lead the parade.”

“And given that honour, the highest honour in the parade, are the beautiful copettes of the Girl-Control Division.”

“And we pay homage to these brave copettes who patrol our streets day and night to keep naughty girls in check and maintain the streets for respectable women.”

“And the rightfully proudest among these proud girls today, is leadin’ the parade.”

“Ladies: let’s hear an extra round of applause for ‘Hotcrack’ the first ponygirl to be provided by a sponsor and to be funded by donation to pull the first Copette-Cart delivered to the Girl-Control Division to add high mobility as a vital aid to the work of the Girl-Control copettes in this fast movin’ post-oil world!”

“As you will see this high speed Copette-Cart seats the Girl-Control Captainess of Police, and her boss, the Chiefette of the whole of the New Edingow Police.”

“That of course is just for today. After this parade, the Copette-Cart will become an integral part of Girl-Control’s equipment.”

“See how well it is designed, and how the beautiful pony has been so well trained to obedience: the beautiful fully trained ponygirl, Hotcrack, havin’ her first outin’ in public here today.”

“But see how the carriage whip is still to hand for the driver, if the pony needs to be reminded of her duties. Let us hope for the sake of Hotcrack, that the carriage whip does not have to be used on her today.”

And then she seemed to lose track of what she had already said, or else another TV station came ******, needin’ her to repeat herself:

“And finally, more finally still, give a rousin’ cheer to ‘Hotcrack’ the astoundin’ly beautiful ponygirl leadin’ the parade so deservedly proudly.”

“Ladies: Hotcrack was also once a Girl-Control copette. But, in the finest traditions of the all-American copette, though she had left the force, when she heard that there was a cryin’ need for ponygirls to pull the Copette-Carts Girl-Control was to be issued with, now the last of the gas fuelled cars has had to be scrapped, Hotcrack was the very first girl to volunteer to have her spirit broken and be trained as a fully obedient copette-ponygirl.”

“Ladies: Hotcrack will continue to serve her full resumed career as a copette; though she will not be paid a wage of course.”

“As Hotcrack is a retuned copette, you’ll see she wears her New Edingow Police warrant-shield badge on the dark-blue garter on her magnificent left thigh.”

“And also on her fabulous left thigh, below that warrant shield, Hotcrack proudly wears the gold garter this former human won for bravery workin’ undercover when she was a rookie copette.”

“Ladies, Hotcrack’ mom and her three very pretty sisters are here among this crowd today to see the daughter and the loveliest of the sisters lead this parade.”

I was astounded by this news! Astounded and horrified!! But I realised that, if my true mission to be gotten to the inside of Lola’s mansion soas to rescue the ‘Nubian Nipple’ ruby was to be disguised, reality had to seem. Accordingly, Merinda had had Ophelia Snatch brief my mom and my kid sisters, and give them free front row tickets to the parade.

“Wherever you are in this massive audience today ma’am, you have every reason to be the proudest mom in New Edingow, America, or even the Universe, and why not, as your astoundin’ly outstandin’ly lovely daughter, now a fully broken obedient copette-ponygirl, leads this glorious parade.”

And even among the noise of the brass band and the clip-clop of my pony hooves, I heard the voices of Lulabell, and Amour, and Capriccio, my three kid-sisters, and I saw their lovely faces, and my mom’s face, and my mom and them wavin’ their little plastic stars ‘n stripes as I trot closer, and they are cheerin’ me, and my mom is cryin’ with pride. And I feel the dark-blue garter on my left thigh gently pressin’ the bottom of the shield-shaped gold-coloured metal New Edingow Police warrant badge onto my firm light-gold-hair decorated smooth thigh flesh. And below it I feel the light pressure of the gold garter on my powerful and curvy left thigh just below my copette’s warrant badge and just above my dimpled knee, with its danglin’ gold medallion swingin’ and tappin’ my gorgeous left knee as I trot-walked obediently pullin’ the Copette-cart, as is to be my pretend destiny from now onwards. And the massive dildos were goin’ in and out, and in and out, and in and out of my love holes, and twistin’ to and fro, and to and fro, insidea me. And as the crowd, and my fellow copettes, and my mom, and my three sisters are cheerin’ me, I am so darned proud!

And as I trot-walk closer to my sisters Lulabell, and Amour, and Capriccio, and my proudest of proud proud moms, my very own super-proud mom waves to me and calls out soas I can hear her clear as crystal, even above the noise of the crowd and the band thumpin’ outta stomp march. And as my mom is callin’ as I’m gettin’ closer her and my sisters right by where they can all see me in my bondage with my head in a bridle, and a bit through my mouth, and my tongue lewdly stickin’ outta the middle of that bit, and heavy hooves on my feet, and my pony shoes nailed to my hooves beatin’ out a ‘clip-clop’ ‘clip-clop’ ‘clip-clop’ on the concrete of the road, and my arms hung out like I was crucified, and my bein’ fastened to the shaft of a cart that is fixed to a couplin’ ‘tween my legs so I have to pull it, and my driver havin’ a whip to beat me if’n I don’t do as I’m told, and long reins fixed to my bare tits so my tits can be pulled to tell me to turn right or turn left, or go or stop or walk or trot or run. And I hear my mom call me, her own daughter. Her own daughter tricked whipped deceived whipped imprisoned whipped worked whipped bound whipped broken whipped trained whipped confined in heavy bondage whipped made to do the work of an animal whipped made to pull a cart under threat of bein’ whipped made to wear a bit and hooves or be whipped and the reins fastened to her tits to tell her what to do…the reins on her tits…. the reins on my tits … the ultimate and final dehumanisin’ degradin’ humiliation of my havin’ my breasts fixed to reins so that my breasts are used to signal my orders through my breasts through my beautiful breasts to my body to my brain… my breasts are bein’ used to give orders to my brain, my breasts are fastened to reins so I can be ordered what to do through them pullin’ on my beautiful breasts …. to tell me what to do, what I must obey without question or be whipped. And I’m now passin’ right by close and within full seein’ of my mom and Lulabell, Amour, and Capriccio. And I hear my mom cheerin’ and a callin’ out: “We all love you darlin’! We’re so proud of you my angel! We’re so proud of my little girl leadin’ this parade. Lulabell, and Amour, and Capriccio are so very proud of their beautiful sister! My darlin’ girl! My beautiful daughter! We all love you!! We all love you!! We all love you Hotcrack!!” And I cum!! And I cum!! And I cum!! And I cum!! And I cum!! Right in fronta my mom and my sister Lulabell, and my sister Amour, and my sister Capriccio, I have multi-multi-multi-orgasms in open public and right in fronta my mom and my sisters!! But, though I can clear see that my youngest sister, Capriccio, knows what’s a happenin’ to me and is somehow jealous, I never break step nor show as I’m havin’ massive multi-cums, cos I know I have to obey, because I’m for now the proudest of the New Edingow Police Department Girl-Control Division copette-ponygirls, enjoyin’ ashamed enjoyin’ ashamedly, enjoyin’ enjoyin’ enjoyin’ the massivest of massive massive cums in fronta my mom and my sisters, my sisters and my mom!!

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 o********-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.


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’ ……………

Farewell My Panties
(by Eve Adorer)

Chapter 4 – Trinity

For a long whiles post my belle in a bell experience I was deaf as politician, literal not proverbial. When my vision recovered from the hit it had taken from the vibrations when I tolled the bell with my body, I could see the lovely lips of my fellow girls movin’, but I could not hear nothin’ but the still loud ringin’ in my head. And I was sufferin’ isolation, cos I knew no lip readin’ skills.

Three months byed from the weddin’ and, though my hearin’ had recovered, I knew new lonely.

I was hareem. Save for my nipple-rings and my blonde head bein’ still trimmed pony mane, I seemed to have been de-ponified permanent.

I wore the ‘three’ yashmaks, face, tits, and ass, showin’ buns-cleavage Ongerian style. My body was beautiful depilated, my pubes sculpted love heart. I wiggled around on the en-pointe ballet-shoes hareem standard.

I’d lost sight of the case I was supposed employed tec for. I somehowed I’d never see that one-million Ongerian dollars in my bank account. Merinda was rich; that was for sure. But I concluded I was prisoner of convenience, it bein’ cheaper to feed me the fresh fruit and spring water all we hareem girls lived on, than to cough-up that cool million.

If that wasn’t the ‘Nubian Nipple’ ruby in Patricia’s naked navel at the nuptials, then I wasn’t a nymphomaniac.

What had gone down ‘tween Merinda and Lola to get it back was probably Merinda’s money.

I had a lotta time to think, and this was my thinkin’. Merinda had come to me with genuine case, but taken another course when her cover was blown by Lola, or someone close to Lola, recognisin’ her.

Me: I’d been used as useful. Volunteered pony, I was intro to Lola when the game was original plan. Now I was surplus. But Merinda had an eye for the girls, and wanted me pony or hareem slave for herself. Certainly, she had no intention pay up.

This I overed and overed in my mind as I waited around in the hareem, bored deep numskull.

I gentled-off the occasional pretty hand that caressed me as a prelim to havin’ a complete feel of me. It was a death sentence to make love with the other girls in the hareem. Nonetheless, the risk was taken, and my nights was often sleepless with the love-moans from shared beds.

I exercised to work off my wantin’, ‘ceptin’ it didn’t work none.

My greatest pleasure was to look out the window at the school opposite. The girls there was full-grown teens near ready university, and they were real honeys.

Ongerian society knew very rich and very poor with not much ‘tween to speak of. These schoolgirls were rich. Many came to school on their own ponygirls. Some had ponygirls tethered to speed-gigs and drove them wild-wind. All day in a field next the school buildin’, there was ponygirls roamin’ loose waitin’ for their mistresses’ go home day ended.

I was fascinated with the school honeybuns, and one in particular.

So many of these girls smoked. I hate smokin’, but they was young and didn’t accept none that it could harm their health.

She, the schoolbabe I’d taken to oglin’, was a mixed-race Ongerian. Half-cast white and negress. She’d glorious dark-brunette curls coilin’ her head wild wonder wander to her delicate shoulders. Sometimes her curls was shimmerin’ fresh-shower late-school no blow-dryered wet yet.

She’d a face an angel woulda looked pug compared with: eyes hauntin’ brown, and the pursed lips of a negress, givin’ her petite mouth a top lip curvin’ up so sensensuously demandin’ of a kiss, it was orgasm just to look at and dream of lickin’ it.

Her complexion was Asian-Indian-girl brown, and flawlessly smooth fresh.

Her snow-white school-uniform shirt was long-sleeve buttoned at wrists. Her school tie, knotted neat at collar, flowed down ‘tween no-bra-needed-nor-worn titanic teenage-tits scribin’ ‘S.E.X.’ on the insides of her blouse with Venus’ voluptuous nipples as they bobbed while my heart throbbed when she even just walked.

Her pleated light-grey school-uniform skirt looked no more than waist-belt-wide, and was worn low, soas to fashionably reveal the top cleavage of her half-moon-buns, and was so short it showed the gusset of her panties fulfilled by the passionate bulge of her honeyhive fully fillin’ it.

Accordin’ wise, her white suspender belt was clear seen on her taut belly, and her stockin’ tops, the tops of her school-regulation white fishnets, were stretched up very vee on her dolly legs, made look longer, by her black school-regulation 10-inch-heel lace-up booties.

I could watch her glory from the hareem’s first storey. The doorway she waited ‘round in was just opposite. She couldn’t see me, cos of the curtain nets and window grill keepin’ us hareem girls in purdah.

Sad to say she was a smoker. I got to study her some cos she lingered for a cigarette afore school.

‘No Smokin’’ was a sign above school gate, so this honeybun of honeybuns, after puffin’ her pleasure, would drop her post-smoked cigarette to snuff it under her dainty-dancer’s foot ‘fore she entered school territory.

Before school day start, she was a hang-around on her mobile phone in the disused doorway of a derelict shop opposite where I daily eyed her over.

Mobile phone at her ear, and cigarette ‘tween her lips, she sorta tantalisin’ tangoed, wavin’ her lovely arms and shapin’ her sensational legs as she spoke animatedly to someone I’d not guess wrong was her goddam lucky girlfriend, whilst her cigarette ash dropped sidewalk with her never takin’ it even once outta her lips, and her leavin’ the saltpetre mixed in the tobacco to take care of its stayin’ alight, slow burnin’.

Fascination of horror, was her leavin’ her cigarette to burn! I’d bite my lips in fear she would burn hers, but she somehow always timed the take-out of her smoke for when final school-bell tolled and told her day was start. By then her cigarette, as if by magic, was exactly down to red-glow near-burn of filter-tip, all tobacco consumed.

I don’t like see a girl usin’ tobacco, ‘specially a girl as lovely as this hyper-honey. But I cannot deny, I found watchin’ the smoke curls slow-swirl-up from her lips, mega-erotic, and some!

She’d let the smoke casually seep outta her exquisite lips, just before she’d pull her tiny white lace panties back up her magnificent thighs again.

Indeed of course, just after she’d taken the filter-tip-end of the now fully consumed cigarette out of her cunt.

Cunt smokin’ was common in the hareem too. Nights, some of the girls would share a hookah specialled with a toe-pump they’d lazy to-and fro soas to work the tobacco smoke into their vestibules.

Legs closed after, they’d enjoy the smoke insidea them, absorbin’ the nicotine through their sensitive inner pink a whiles, till the pipe-end was their turn again. Then they’d casual their love-lips agape: and the smoke, now also scented with their own supreme aroma, would reluctantly leave their satans, weepin’ as it seeped from their deeps and coiled ceilin’, sighin’.

I’d been offered the hookah pipe early days hareem, and ignorant how it was meant used, put it to my mouth.

Midst galore giggles, I’d tasted fresh girl on it, and loved it. Then they showed me how Ongerian girls preferred take their baccy sailorette style, and I declined more.

Patricia Campbell was now, of course, Her Supreme Excellence the Princess Wife in Ordinary Merinda de Cabot-Ensaya.

Adorable is too inadequate a word for her.

She was regular in the hareem. We had, in reflex, all dived floor in the surrendee when she had first entered. But she had generoused that we need not do the surrendee for her, ‘ceptin when she was walkin’ the regulation three strides before her wife, the princess herself. When the princess was followin’ her, she’d make a signal so we knew we had to kiss the ground.

Patricia loved to relax in the hareem.

One of the reasons she was a regular visitor there, was for her to take lessons in how to please another girl: her wife.

Practisin’ a flurry of flick-licks with her tongue, she would burst into memorably melodic giggles when she got it wrong.

As she did this exercise for hours on end, soas to perfect her love-licks, I noticed that her GBI badge no longer pierced her very long tongue.

I still longed for the princess herself, but had gone heels-over-head for Patricia when she’d lightenin’ bolted me with her smile that night in the hareem when she’d been bathed and re-shaved before bein’ sewn-up.

Patricia’s dark-blue eyes would flash forget-me-not blue when she caught yours with her smile.

She’d won every heart in the hareem with her genuine sweetness. She knew every girl’s name there.

‘Every heart’ and ‘every name’ included mine.

My heart had gone nuclear meltdown when Patricia’d merely whispered a passin’ “Hi Ima” to me, as she fragranced by in the casual jeans and tee-shirt she usually wore when hareem visit.

It happened innocent.

Patricia and I were the only American babes in the palace. It was therefore natural for us to get talkin’. After all, we both haled from New Edingow, the 51st state of the US of A.

She was so open and honest and sweet as she looked at me, hangin’ on my every word as I told her ‘bout my bein’ in Girl-Control, and how I’d had to spank schoolgirl ass once in a whiles.

The hareem knew we’d be sat corner swappin’ yarns, includin’ her days as lead violin in the New Edingow City Philharmonic. And how she’d met the princess at a concert, and fallen in love at first sight. But how Merinda had then gone home so she – Patricia – had decided on adventure and joined the GBI, waitin’ till Merinda was satisfied she – Patricia – could make the sacrifice required of an Ongerian royal bride.

Merinda was often away on state duties, so Patricia would hang around we slaves, her slaves even, durin’ long evenin’s, when our duties of cleanin’ cookin’ bed-makin’ and all those other hotel-type things a palace also needs doin’, were done.

When Merinda was away, the hareem would relax. When Merinda was at home, sometimes a girl would be chosen for her bed, or the bed of a guest.

A visit by the American ambassadoress was the real feared occasion. Merinda knew what “Madame USA” had a weakness for. Merinda so wanted US favour too. So the US ambassadoress would be brought hareem to take her choice of the girl she wanted to strip naked and personally whip.

Thank gee she never had chance choose me. Soas she didn’t know I was effectively American honeypie girlnapped, I was hidden away on her visits.

It happened innocent.

There was the usual hubbub of girls’ voices laughin’ and gigglin’, and me with Patricia in the corner talkin’ as often usual when Merinda was away.

Then a silence of such eerie echo fell over the room as each girl there slowly realised that I was kissin’ Patricia full-on her petulantly-protrudin’ mouth, and Patricia was comin’ on to me like a triple-speed bullet train.

That was the first time I’d taken the initiative with a girl.

I was just overcome with her irresistible irresistibility. I kissed Patricia’s hungry mouth because it was the natural thing to do with a so loveable a lovely girl and a girl I was so in love with.

When the chatter started again, it had a hollow falseness of the urgency to find neutrality of subject.

The one thing all the honeys in the hareem wanted to discuss was avoided, even as Patricia and me was kissin’ with still growin’ passion.

Then, strugglin’ me gently off, Patricia upped and ran outta the room.

The diamonds irremovably embedded in her nipples had already ripped her blouse when her passion had raised her nips to hard peaks. This and agony from the fifty stitches sewn through her clitoris to keep it under control, had reminded her why her clitoris hood and her cunt had been sewn closed for all eternity, and she was cryin’ with despair on top of the excruciatin’ pain from within her sewn-up clit hood.

“You fuckin’ fool! Ima. You are a stupid fuckin’ fool! Goddammit, you can be executed for even so much as lookin’ at Her Supreme Excellence the Princess Wife”. This was the stage whisperin’ voice of the mature girl that had sewn Patricia closed.

“Her Supreme Excellence the Princess Wife is forbidden territory even for Her Supreme Excellence the Princess Wife herself.”

“Her Supreme Excellence the Princess Wife is a forever-virgin. She must be highly skilled in pleasin’ her wife but must never, never, never ever have sexual pleasure with others or from her own hand. She is not allowed a single solitary cum: ever.”

“You’d better hope and pray you have not ruined Her Supreme Excellence, Ima, and that the princess herself hears nothin’ of the kiss, or you will suffer the slowest most painful death it is impossible to imagine”.

I instant slumped corner and cried.

Patricia never came hareem alone after that. And, after that too before, she issued an order that henceforth, all hareem girls, without exception, would perform the surrendee in her presence, and not speak unless and until they were given the permission of Her Supreme Excellence the Princess Wife or other Ongerian royal family members.

Followin’ the kiss, within an hour of Merinda’s return to the palace, I was dragged outta my bed, hauled to the stables, pony-shoe-shod and made ponygirl once more.

Next day early mornin’ I was made ready to pull a sulky.

I’d seen the rich schoolgirls trottin’ their ponygirls, ridin’ in somethin’ like one of these, but this one spoke of vastly expensive hand built art and craft. It was single-seat of course, but that seat, a chair like an automobile’s, was in the purest of light fawn kid leather.

The frame of this sulky was lightweight, but seemed to be made from the finest gold. You mighta thought it must be aluminium somehow coated, but couldn’t be sure.

The wheels were racin’-bicycle in slimness, with gold hubs and spokes. The vulcanised tyres were royal mauve. At the back, in an overhang, was a trunk for whatever the owner might wanta carry. A long cruel leather carriage whip stood upright with its handle in a tubular holder, waitin’ for the driver.

Instead of a bit across ‘tween my teeth, I was darn near chokin’ on a penis-bit. My gorgeous mouth was suckin’ on a nine-inch dildo pushed ‘tween my teeth, over my tongue, and down my throat.

Thank gee, this dildo had a hole through, so I could breath. Its bottom end stuck outta my lovely lips formin’ a wider circle makin’ it look like I was sucklin’ on a baby’s dummy. Straps round the side of my face held it down me. I had been horrified when I seen it, and they’d hadta hold my nose closed soas to get me to open my mouth and have it pushed in.

This penis-bit and the straps holdin’ it hard down my throat so I was gaggin’, was part of my new style head harness: a new style bridle that went with the sulky it seemed.

Further distress for me came with the blinders. I’d gotten used to the side blinders, but these new ones were tubes. I was wearin’ like I’d got goggles on my eyes. They was leather tubes standin’ out three-inches from my face, and makin’ it soas I could absolutely strictly only see front.

Yes, I was back in a bridle, but this one was gold: gold but with red letterin’ on the forehead band that told the world that I was once again ‘Hotcrack’ the ponygirl, and not Ima Dike, the private eye.

I couldn’t stop my stable-girls feelin’ for and pinchin’ holda my unstable clitoris, nor the whiny I let out through the hole in my penis gag, when they clipped a quarter-pound gold sphere to my clit, so it dangled from my mighty-stretched nub painin’ me somethin’ grievous.

A saddle-belt was tightened round my waist like I was to have all my breath squozed outta me. They was pullin’ it up the notches so far before they found where they wanted the staple through the hasp hole, they musta squeezed my already waif to a bee’s bee of only nine or ten-inches, they tightened it so gaspin’ tight.

Down from this saddle, I could feel two straps danglin’ ‘tween my demi-moons, but could not myself see that these two straps merged into one, and the one ended in a gold-coloured strong ring.

The cangue on my shoulders still held my delicious arms out cruciform, and left my dainty hands danglin’ helpless, my long fingernails bein’ my pride: the nails I’d grown and lovin’ly carefully girlicured in my bored borin’ days hareem, makin’ my hands look particularly pretty.

But this cangue had a neck brace at centre curved so as to bend my neck and force my head, when I was standin’, so far back that I was a lookin’ at the sky. So I was bid to bend like an upside-downed ‘L’, findin’ thus that my face was flat forward, and me starin’ straight ahead through my goggle-blinkers.

The cangue and arm-stretch were also now, the bearers of the hoops through which my gold-decorated leather tit-reins were fed, before they were clipped to my nipple-rings. This was ‘stead of my mouth-bit havin’ the side-hooped bit this time.

Bent as I was now with my neck-brace forcin’ my proud head to face forward, I was in the receivin’ position for the single shaft of the sulky. The single cold rolled-gold shaft of the sulky had its foredestined destiny: my cunt.

They backed me onto it, so it was through the ring on the hang-down straps ‘tween the cleavage of my buns. They backed me onto it, and it was slid eighteen-long-inches into my pink, before two crosspieces were locked horizontally through the shaft, either side of the danglin’ ring, to hold the shaft up me.

As if I was not in agony enough, my final harness was a long strong leather strap fastened to a ring at the back of my bridle headband, and then pulled tight, to force my head upright even more: pulled tight, before a billhook at its further end, was ‘tween the shaft holdin’ ring danglers, and hooked into my asshole.

I shifted clip-cloppin’ pained and nervous in my new bound bonds, and did not see, because my blinkers hid it from me: did not see my stable-girls dive into the surrendee.

My two true loves were together. Merinda looked regal and assured in a white superbly tailored businessgirl’s suite. Patricia girlish and feminine in a white blouse with its sleeves rolled above her elbows, showin’ the fine-gold-down anointin’ her slender forearms, and a lycra micro that hugged her beautiful butt but beautifully.

Patricia’s skirt was short enough to flash a teasin’ pleasin’ hint of the crotch of her white silk panties. Her dolly legs were caressed by white mid-thigh-high-topped sheer nylon stockings. These were held up by sumptuous frilly-lace scarlet garters, tied in huge chocolate-box ribbon bows, saucily at the sides of her perfect thighs.

On Patricia’s delight of light blonde curls, was a silly ‘beekeeper’s hat’ confection, complete with a veil in imitation of the net an apiarist would have for protection.

Her lovely little feet were sloppin’ about in impractical but very flatterin’ fifteen-inch-heeled mules, givin’ devastatin’ shape to her orgasmically curvy legs.

Patricia was happy giggles as she held Merinda’s hand, with Merinda leadin’ her, as I now astonish realised, leadin’ her blindfold to where I waited patiently patently in harness.

Then Patricia was all excited tremors as Merinda stood behind her and reached up under Patricia’s veil, to take off the blinfold.

“Happy birthday my angel!” whispered Merinda with such clear sincerity of deep love that my heart broke even as she spoke.

And I saw Patricia’s dark blue lanterns with black pupils wider than her wide-eyed joy, as she screamed with happiness at the sight of the gold sulky, clapped her lovely hands, and wiggle-whirled round to tumble softly into Merinda’s arms.

There she stood on one divine leg, kickin’ the other up to such an erotically perturbin’ curvation, that all geometry textbooks needed immediate recall for rewrite for gettin’ the curve so impossibly wrong.

Kisses, even through the silly and forgotten veil, showered Merinda’s face with did Patricia, with her soft bold lips: “Oh my darlin’! I love you, love you, love you, love you, love yooooou!!” she tease-screeched to a risin’ bubblin’ giggle of shear exultant happiness, dancin’ her stunnin’ legs in an erotic fandango.

“Happy birthday angel!” Merinda repeated, breathtaken astonished and laughin’ with love at her wife’s forever-virgin’s innocence.

“May I go for a run with it? Oh please, please, please, please!?”

“Of course you may, you silly!” Merinda answered, as Patricia giggled at the tease.

Patricia then kissed Merinda again, claspin’ her hat from makin’ a threat to fall ground a reality, as she again shaped a raised leg to gasp-makin’ curve of curve of curve’s curves, while she dandled her mule on her toes, before lettin’ Merinda reluctantly go.

Then, straitnin’ her skirt, which had slid up to reveal all of her tiny tight wish-wisp silk panties, Patricia wiggled girl right past me without givin’ me the slightest lightest look, and took her seat in the sulky, eagerly graspin’ and tautenin’ my tit-reins.

“Test the reins while I watch please sweetheart!” Merinda called, with love’s concern for loved’s safety.

Patricia obediently worked my reins and thus my size 38E-cup pendulous danglin’ tits fore and back, left and right, back and fore, right and left, like a peel of silent church bells, while Merinda watched.

“Yes: they are workin’ fine. But you drive carefully my darlin’!” Merinda called.

A crack of the whip above my head, the twice-tug both reins both my tits together, and I knew I was to walk. And so I walked pullin’ the sulky. And the slidin’ fit of the shaft up my cunt was already provoke-pokin’ me like a piston’s pushrod.

The strap that dangled in the valley of my buns, was hangin’ loose like that, soas it held the sulky’s shaft from comin’ right outta my sheath, but also soas to ensure I was constantly rodded with the unrelentin’ eighteen-inches, when the cart caught up with me ‘tween the ‘clips’ and the ‘clops’ of my tiptoed pony-shod ‘clip-clop’ steps.

I was bein’ fully fucked, and was instantly wetter than Pacific high tide better. And the tubed penis-bit in my mouth played flute to my breathin’ as my arousal mounted with the unmerciful full-length shaftin’ bein’ given my satan, so I whinnied with my love of bein’ so cruelly used by my love as she twice-tugged my tits to order me up to the trot.

And the shaft was shaggin’ my succubus, goin’ in and outta me like an amnesiac with no mind-up-make over come or go.

And we were outta the far gates of the palace. And Patricia slowed me to a walk and then: “Whoa Hotcrack!”, with a strong single pull on both my tits as one, to a stop.

As we waited for a gap in the traffic, Patricia gently made my left breast go back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, by pullin’ the tit-rein to wave my breast aft and fore like an auto’s flashin’ turn indicator, so I knew I was to turn left when there was a gap in the main-road traffic.

It was a busy hot mornin’ and already that time of day when the teens were makin’ for the local school.

Indeed, most of the traffic was schoolgirls on their ponygirls, or ridin’ speed-gigs behind ponygirls pullin’ like me.

At a gap in the traffic I couldn’t know of because of my funnel-blinkers enforcin’ my forward-only tunnel vision, I felt the both-tits-together double-tug, and walked obediently pullin’ the sulky left into the road. Two-tit-tugs-in-combo again, and I obeyed the order to trot.

My cunt was bein’ shafted profoundly soundly relentlessly endlessly, as I clip-cloppped the concrete of the road. And my heat was risin’ not from any strain at haulin’ my lovely mistress in the sulky, but from my desire fires: the fires bein’ stoked by the never-endin’ poke of the shaft within my sin. And I am ‘clip-clop’, ‘clip-clop’, ‘clip-clop’, ‘clip-clop’, ‘clip-clop’, and the shaft is in-out, in-out, in-out, and I see her on the sidewalk. And she is devastatin’ with her natural brown complexion. And she is wearin’ a micro-micro today. And I see she has tied the tails of her white uniform shirt in a bow, tight at the base of her ribcage, so her beautiful flat belly is bare. And her micro-micro is so short I watch the displayed cleavage of her half-moons: her beckonin’ brown buns as they wave a wondrously wonderful wiggle ahead of my way as we come up behind her bounteous behind. And my eyes compulsively rise the league length of her white-fishnet stockinged legs, caressin’ the sweet sweep of her firm gentle feminine muscularity, all the way up from her slim ankles to the mouth-waterin’ curves of her arched calves, to the backs of her knees, to the effortless strength of her worshippably powerful thighs, to her stockin’ tops veed high twice each luscious leg by her suspenders, to her suspenders long-stretched and disapperin’ ‘neath her skirt to reappear on the suspender belt round the wisp of her whispered waist. And I am whinnyin’ as I realise she’s wearin’ no panties in summer heat acknwledgin’. And she turns at the sound of my whinny through my penis-gag. And her shirt is open all buttons bar damned one, left to dam the escape of her bewitchin’ bosom. And her school tie emphasises the emphatic dramatic depth of the divine cleavage deeply contrastin’ the contradictin’ high peaks of her virgin-firm Vesuvian eruptions, with their hidden rosebud pinnacles prominently profferin’ honeysuckle preliminary to sweet-milk in time to come from their tight-closed central craters. And I see her divine face out angelin’ the angels, tumultuously tumbled round with her brunette curls whirlin’ wild, with a stray over one shy eye, as her deep-dark-brown soul’s windows note and then ignore me. And I see the passion provocation of the upper of the acutely cutely curled negress’ lips on her closed kismet-is-to-kiss-me mouth. And I see too with her now bein’ turned toward me and her wearin’ no panties, a hint of the tight inturnin’ softly shinin’ heart burnin’ beauty of the nude lips of this unsullied immaculate. And I watch the blue-grey plume of smoke slow flowin’ to heaven from under her hem after her just extinguished cigarette. And that she has just extinguished, now distinguishes my desire, as I watch the waverin’ smoke that must be seepin’ from her tight lips after her carefree careless smokin’. And I glance at her face and her mouth opens minutely momentarily. And I watch that incredibly sensensual upper lip of her absolutely breathtakin’ly beautiful mouth. That lip curved up and flat, beacon beckonin’ for a kiss in its own entirely rightful right. And her face with that oh so goddam sensensual upper lip curlin’ up to its so damned kissable flatness on her composed rosebud mouth. That lip that I long to kiss and lick and suck and nibble. And the smoke risin’ last wisps from her just hidden untouched, from the spent cigarette she’s just snuffed out with her 10-inch heel. ….

……And, obviously oblivious to me, as I clip-clop by, cummin’, and cummin’, and cummin’, again, and again…. and again, she, carefree and careless of the devastatin’ impact of her incalculable beauty, casually catwalks into her school….

After my latest torture, I was suddenly lookin’ wide-eyed-astonished at a twenty-year-old mixed-race angel’s angel, with twirl-curled dark-brown lustrous hair tumblin’ to her delicate shoulders, her face smilin’ love, her tiny negress’ mouth formin’ the ultimate natural kiss as, asidin’ a multiple-helix of her curls, that had wandered over one of her darkest-of-dark-brown eyes, she spoke.

“Hi”, she warm-honeyed

She then paused.

“It’s so hot today”, she sainted, lowerin’ her lovely eyes coincidentally down at her significantly magnificent cleavage, as if she were embarrassed, before lookin’ love at me again.

“It’s so humid….. No wonder you fell asleep……..”

“I didn’t want to disturb you”.

Her white camisole like vest with its low swoopin’ curved neckline showed her cleaved deep cleavaged breasts provokin’ pokin’ pointin’ proud. It was voluminously filled. Her firm brown bosom emboldened its material, materially thrustin’ it stretched prominently dually duly proud. Her nipples’ conical cones were visibly threatenin’ to pop out and burst into full pink flower. And, by gee, she ‘didn’t want to disturb me’?!

“I didn’t want to disturb you. But I’ve been here five minutes…. I’m afraid I’ve gotten other appointments?” she sweetly apologised.

“You seemed to be havin’ a …. a sort of….. a dream……….”

“I didn’t want to disturb you”, she repeated, clearly charmin’ly embarrassed.

Her blue-denim skirt was torn off ragged at the hem, and the hem, no more than just beyond eclipsin’ her heavenly brown moons. Her black-nylon stockinged dolly-girl’s legs were god’s-gasp shapely. Her suspenders were visible below her hem.

Was she or wasn’t she? Is she or isn’t she? Be she, or be she not?

Her curved-curves-contour-clingin’ skirt revealed no visible-panty-line. It was also tight-lipped about whether it was true, as I sensed, that her sweetmeat was depilated silk-smooth.

“We called ahead……..”

“I’m from the GBI?……..”

“It was arranged we…. I mean I… that I call in …….”

“We spoke on the phone yesterday….. About the ‘Nubian Nipple’ case?”

“Hi ………”

She held out the prettiest of delicate right hands for me to greetin’ shake…….

As she did so, the left shoulder strap of the vest of this honey of honeys, slipped down her golden-brown upper arm, promisin’ to let wild one of her wonderfully wanderin’ breasts.

She made no attempt to replace the strap. She was a nature-girl, sorta fallin’ outta her clothes, like she was more at home naked on a bed that clothed instead.

…….”I’m Patricia Merinda ……Agent Merinda of the GBI?”

The angel’s angel lowered her lovely proffered handshake-hand, and blushed.

I looked: at her goddam gorgeous mouth, and at the bold curved-up-to-flatness prominence of her sensensual upper lip, and just knew, as she clearly did too, who’d inspired my half-awake subliminal imagination, and exactly why my panties were soaked beyond saturation by the rush-gush of love-honey from my just-now wet-dream multi-cum explosions.

….And in her vest’s breast pocket, her vest filled by her queen-size bosom, snuggled her lighter …..

……. her lighter: and an opened packet of king-size filter-tipped cigarettes….

The End

05-20-2007, 08:06 PM
Thanks for the great story hope to see more from you soon!

05-21-2007, 09:16 AM
another super story thanks


11-08-2007, 06:04 PM
This has had a good amount of view....enjoy.....:)