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Seraphima Too
(by Eve Adorer)
Chapter 6 – Who’ll Duel?
Not believing what she had
just read, praying what she had read was untrue; it was as if Seraphima did not
even believe the document she held.
She whisked to the front
page. And there in indisputable indelible print was confirmed:
‘The Ntobi Courier and
‘Late Extra Edition’
As Seraphima looked dazed at
But, despite their
tenderness, and because of their tenderness, both girls winced. Seraphima from the bruises of her brutal bludgeoning; Marina from
the scratches caused by the consummation of an all-consuming passion.
“Are you alright my love?”
“The
Girl-Police beat me up”, Seraphima answered, still sobbing at the thought of
Teasetta’s suffering.
“Me too”,
Seraphima cried for
Teasetta; Marina for Seraphima, and for the knowledge that she had betrayed her
love to the Girl-Police, and in the marital bed. But, after the terrible tune of their sad sobs for a situation they could
do nothing about, the worthlessness of crying dried the tears of both girls.
“Where did you say
Camilleona was?” Seraphima enquired again.
“I sent her away. She had
news that her sister was ill. She’s gone to Enabe for a couple of days. It’s a
wonder you didn’t pass each other at the train station. I know she’s only a
slave, but it seemed inhuman not to let her go. It’s nothing dangerous. Her
sister had to be whipped rather severely. Camilleona has gone to tend her
sister’s wounds. Well, I mean, you couldn’t expect her sister’s owners to do
that, could you?”
“I didn’t know Camilleona
had a sister”, Seraphima contemplated out loud.
“She’s from a big family”,
The echoing ‘splaaang’ of a
window smashing, preceded that now bumping tumbling sliding and spinning across
the kitchen floor.
The stun grenade exploded
with an echoing report. After it, Seraphima could see
It must have been twenty
Girl-Police that followed in, in their gasmasks, wielding bullwhips; and ten of
them that pinned the black rose face down to the floor and sprayed CS gas in
her face.
‘Bring in the cage!’ their
leader ordered with a beckoning hand, as the world whirled and Seraphima passed
out.
……………………..
“May it please your honour”,
the clerk of the court began, “The first case before the Ntobi Criminal Court
August 2010 session, is that of Mrs Seraphima Ntbeli.”
“Ntbeli stands accused of
receiving stolen property: to wit one white robe styled in the familiar form of
a dressing gown, and of assaulting two Girl-Police officers with one of their
own batons. This latter took place on the next day following their interviewing
her in respect of the said illegal receipt, and therefore in the normal pursuit
of their duty”.
“Unveil the prisoner”, the
judge ordered.
“May it please your honour,
the prisoner is self-evidently a very violent girl, and it has been thought
best to keep her in what is commonly called a ‘lioness’ cage’; and to keep the
cage covered”, the clerk informed, with an edge of anxiety to her voice.
“I thank the pretty clerk
for her advice. Nonetheless, I would remind the clerk that this is my court,
and when I say ‘unveil the prisoner’, the prisoner will be unveiled”, the judge
quietly insisted.
As the cover of Seraphima’s
sheet-steel-floored iron barred cage was whisked away, a gasp echoed from the
courtroom walls.
Within her brutal cage up
high on a stand, Seraphima knelt with her wrists girlackled behind her back, and her ankles girlackled together.
Her neck had an iron ring
around it, and the ring was chained to the top of the cage. To tame her, she
had rusting iron rods thrusting into her trussed body, holding her rigidly
immoveable. The rods penetrated her throat, her cunt, and her anus.
Only god and Seraphima knew
how long she had dwelt starving in the cage in which she could not move save
for infinitesimally. And god was not saying, and
Seraphima could not do more than moan her deep distress.
Though god may not have
borne witness, one of her angels saw this terrible cruelty, and screamed out:
“Oh Seraphima!!” as she sobbed.
Seraphima’s eyes looked
around the court and saw lovely Kate in tears, and Marina and Camilleona
holding hands, with Camilleona leaning on
“Before I declare her
guilty, does the prisoner have a defence?” the judge enquired routinely.
The eyes of the court, and those of Seraphima looked around to see if anyone
would speak for her: Seraphima’s eyes in desperation.
The click-clack of
twelve-inch stilettos, with steel heels tapering to pinpoints, was the answer,
as an angelic apparition, wearing a black PVC microdress, with her simply
sinfully black rubber suspenders showing below its hemline, holding transparent
latex stockings on her very shapely legs, wiggled into the court, and took the
witness stand.
The little angel, no more
than five-three in her stockinged feet, had cropped hair that waved like shorn
corn, as she daintied her delight onto the stand.
“And who would you be,
delightful little lady?” the judge empathised, as she ogled the angel’s shapely
thighs.
“I have the honour of being
Professor Kate I. S. Godsgift of the University of Ntobi, your honour”, Kate
curtsied, her skirt promising to show she wore no panties; but,
contradictatorially, falling as short of honouring that offer as its hem was in
distance down Kate’s lovely thighs.
“I also have the honour of
being in love with the girl in that horrible cage”, Kate affirmed for Seraphima
to hear, only just avoiding more tears as she looked over at her.
At that affirmation, a
single gasp of astonishment caused the assembled girls and women to turn in
turn to stare at
“Compose yourself lovely
girl, and tell this court what you have to say in defence of the prisoner”, the
judge instructed. “And I will have no more interruptions from the public
gallery!” she ordered, looking around slowly; sternly.
……………………..
In the southern-hemisphere
winter, the bitter winds that blew in the
The film to be made of
Seraphima’s punishment would repay the cost of her trial. Glorinda Gramoldi had
been engaged to don her leathers, in ‘The Spillage’, a film that would witness
the punishment of a girl actually found guilty of receiving stolen goods, but
on a more imaginative fictional charge.
……………………..
The careers of Sergeant Pat
Butt, and Constable Cretina Critic, of the Ntobi Girl-Police were over.
The exposition by sweet Kate
Godsgift, supported by the secret filming of the two, now disgraced officers,
attempting to bribe the ‘Tarts With Hearts Gang’, and threatening them with
prosecution for beating-up Seraphima if they refused to pay, had tipped the
balance.
Kate knew nothing of the
accusation of receiving stolen goods, or who on earth ‘Teasetta Loveschild’
was.
Seraphima had been reprieved
and sentenced at one and the same time.
She was no longer charged
with assaulting the Girl-Police in Enabe, but found guilty of receiving stolen
goods: the ‘goods’ being the same dressing gown for which Teasetta Loveschild
was still recovering from one-hundred lashes of the bullwhip, as her
preliminary punishment for the original theft.
Pat Butt and Cretina Critic
had been lucky to find themselves roles as extras in the film.
……………………..
Seraphima knew what was to
come. Her stomach churned with fear in consequence of the consequences of her
crime, and the subsequent sequence of events that led to her being dressed
before the cameras for her upcoming ordeal.
To ensure her co-operation,
she had been given the choice of one-month’s continued imprisonment in the
iron-barred cage in which she had been carried to court, or to take willing
unwilling part in the film.
……………………..
The ‘highest house in the
land’ was meant as a meaningful double-meaning. Well above the mountain
snowline, the former hunting lodge of the very much former queens of Senabre,
the last of whose line had long since been deposed by the British, was palatial
in parlance and indeed. Its location atop
……………………..
The steady intermittent
soporific crackle from the logs on the fire and the sweet smell of their pine,
as they pined opinion on the stunning naked girl being
dressed before the glowing hearth, filled the microphones.
In the synopsis for the
film, Seraphima was a serving wench who had accidentally spilt a droplet of
wine on the dining table of the cruel Czarina. No more beautiful woman could be
found to play the Czarina than the statuesque Gramoldi.
As the six-foot-two tall,
not too tall at all, athletic blonde bombshell, unrolled
lightening-bright-white seamed nylon stockings up the long curvaceous expanse
of Seraphima’s seemingly never-ending legs, the glow in Glorinda Gramoldi’s
honey-coloured eyes, showed the state of her arousal, not least when her hands
reached the place of Seraphima’s espousal, exposed.
The waspie Seraphima already
wore, to draw her into an hourglass with the minim of grasp that her gracious
figure needed to complete that task, dandled suspenders at the sides of her
bountiful bottom.
A theme for the dream that
was the circumstance unfolding before the cameras, showed in the lining of the
waspie the negress rosebud wore. Her waist was
squeezed whisper slim wisp, by a waspie, lined inside and out with warm white
wolf-fur, the outer hairs of which drifted in the eddies
from the currents of warm air from the glowing crackling fire.
As she saw that Glorinda was
eyeing the glory of her god-given mouth, closed and composed in the ‘O’ that
proposed orgasm as the road she who touched the black rose must always
eventually expose, Seraphima lowered her lovely dark-devil-brown eyes in
shyness and shame.
Glorinda fastened the clasps
of the two suspenders now, so that they no longer dawdled in dangle at the
sides of Seraphima’s thighs, but took the strain of the sweet refrain any
stocking that captured the rhapsodies of Seraphima’s legs, must sing, with
metaphor to the fore, for her two so shapely limbs.
Save where now pulled up at
her flanks into stretched inverted-vees, Seraphima’s stocking tops diagonalled
the glory of her sizzling thighs, their pristine white contrasting with her
sweet liquorice black.
As Glorinda now finalised
the weaving of Seraphima’s six-foot long pubic hair into twin corn-ear tresses,
Seraphima watched with her lovely lips slightly agape, making a kiss with no
mistake.
As she wrapped the corn-ears
of Seraphima’s pubic tresses, to address and caress the negress
angel’s stupendous thighs, Glorinda’s sighs were the genuine article.
The corn-weaves of
Seraphima’s astounding pubic hair, paid honour to the wonder size of her wonderful
thighs, around which they were wrapped in rapture, to capture the beauty of her
legs; not by playing garters, this time at least, put in forming themselves as
infamous snakes, that were tied in inspirational spirals, curling curving
swerving around the rosebud’s thighs, down from her stocking tops to just above
her knees, whereat they were tied off to themselves.
Just as with the waspie, the
rabbit-skin panties were white-fur lined, inside and out.
The sensuous warmth of her
fluffy-fur knickers aroused fair Seraphima to a blush hidden by the glory of
her black complexion.
In wholly innocence,
Seraphima’s orgasmic ‘O’ mouth stood a little wider now, for she knew from the
feel of openness, that her pubic hair had been pulled hard, before being wound
round her thighs and tied: for her love lips stood agape inside her hot white
rabbit-fur knickers insides.
Even with her legs together,
within her fur panties she was smiling pink. The discomfort of this disport
from the distancing of her distinctly feminine distinctions, reminded her that
she was a girl.
The elasticated garter
slowly drawn up the glory of Seraphima’s left leg, was
the one exception to the wonderful white in which her beautiful black was being
enmirrored. For the fur of this superfluous erotic garter was white ermine
dotted with black. The two-inch depth of the ermine-fur garter delighted
Seraphima’s left thigh at the top of her stocking: warming bare thigh on the
inside of her leg, and decorating the stocking’s vee, just below the suspender
clasp on her outer thigh.
The well-concealed zips,
made it easier to clasp the curves of Seraphima’s calves in the white
wolf-fur-lined knee-high heelless tiptoe-topping ballet-en-pointe boots, that
Glorinda next put on Seraphima, who, to aid the course of this course, was
sitting her parable of incomparable curves, in an essay of inestimable beauty,
on a seat made a throne as she did so.
In bidding she now stand
after putting the boots on, the ‘Czarina’ could not help but put out a helping
hand, and was thus touched and touched, hand and heart in equal part, by the
lovely Seraphima.
Standing en-pointe only on
the squared-off toes of her boots, Seraphima teetered with her legs drawn into
a damnation of instructive inductive seductive muscular tensions, conducive
only to paying and praying worshipful attention to.
The coat was fabulous. It
had once gloried in covering two polar bears. Now its sensationally sensuous
warmth embraced a near bare girl.
Double-breasted, like its
wearer, and double furred, like its wearer, inside and outside fur-lined in
pristine white, she brown-furred, head and somewhere else that can be easily
inferred, it covered sweet Seraphima from where its collar-wings triangled out
at her face’s cheeks, to her fur booted ankles.
Hooks went into eyes, and
Glorinda was espied by the cameras, as she slipped the gold buttons into their
allocated allotted eyes, watched by Seraphima’s own glorious globes.
Before she slipped the white
chinchilla-fur hat onto Seraphima’s head, and lowered it flaps over her pretty
little ears, Glorinda eased Seraphima’s conspicuously cute dark brown hair
curls out from the coats collar.
The mittens were of white
rabbit-fur. The stole had once been an artic fox.
Enraptured and captured and
captivating in her furs, Seraphima felt guilty for the sensationally sexy
warmth and wonderful sensuousness.
As she slid her
mitten-gloved hands into a white wild-hare-fur muff: her hands in a fur muff,
her muff in fur knickers, her bare nipples were
excited by the fur of the insides of her clinging coat.
As she wiggled on tiptoe at
the order of the ‘Czarina’ in the film being made, Seraphima knew the pull on
her female denoting keynote lips, from her tethered pubic hair, and felt that
this was just just punishment for the suffering of the poor animals that had
been sacrificed to cover this vulnerable human naked-ape, from exposure to the
bitter cold of the outside mountain air.
……………………..
The Czarina wrapped in red
fur and leather, and her helpers clad in black fur, ordered Seraphima away from
the warmth of the fire and out onto the plateau on which the winter palace
stood.
Outside Seraphima’s
tiptoe-topped-feet scrunched in the compacted snow, and her breath steamed in a
sweet stream from her daintily flared nostrils.
It was minus-five
Fahrenheit, with a chilling breeze telling the thermometer it was minus-ten.
The same chilling breeze blew up a scurry of soft white snowflakes that kissed
Seraphima’s lovely negress black face.
What happened next was not
in the script. But Seraphima took just one look at the delightful horse that
was to pull the sled on which the party outside were about to ride, when she
squealed with delight and wiggled over, her breasts swinging a fandango on her
chest, with her nipples hotly in the caress of the fur insides of her coat: and
removed her stole from in front of her black-girl’s orgasmic mouth, and took
her mitten-clad right hand out of her muff, and with her opened-to-pink muff
still hot in her rabbit-fur panties, kissed the lucky horse, and smothered its
nose with her sweet gentle girly love.
……………………..
Seraphima, the prisoner, the
naughty maid who had spilled the fictitious wine, returned her stole across her
hot kiss-me-I-am-kismet lips, and put her mitten-gloved hand back in her muff,
as she was led to the rear of the sled and made as bade, to sit her other
fur-clad, parted-to-show-pink muff, on the rear seat where the Czarina would
sit beside her.
It was the servant played by
ex-police-sergeant Pat Butt, who placed the bearskin rug over Seraphima’s lap
in readiness for the sled to become pony and trap.
As she sat glowing in the
wonderful warmth of her furs, Seraphima felt comfortable and almost comforted
in the biting frostbitten air.
It was the Czarina who now
reached to Seraphima’s chest, and tugged on fur-hidden, hitherto secret zips.
And then reached inside the close-clinging coat, to grasp in turn, each of
Seraphima’s breasts, and haul their black-coffee beauty out into the bitter
biting air, completely bare, adjusting the outside zips under them to hold them
exposed there.
At this unexpected exposure of her lovely black bosom to the
bitter frost’s bite, even as her unction spread its musk from her held-open
lips in her rabbit-fur knickers, shamed, and realising she was there to be thus
punished, Seraphima hung her lovely head, wondering why her body betrayed her
instead, despite that she fought her arousal inside her pretty head.
……………………..
Momentous moments later, and rhythmic onomatopoeic
tintinnabulations: unconstrained sleigh bells on reined reins. The sleigh
glided, scrunching rolling marbles of uncompacted snow. The glides slid. Days of long nights.
A bare black bosom openly fully exposed to the chilling
cold, jumped and swung in twin unison with the equine footfall. Horse four
foot: swift. Snow four-foot: drifts. She forfeit: sits. Days
when frost bites.
Steam? No. Vapour? Yes. Breath? Again yes. Nostrils flare. Equine
and sweet fair. Bitter air. Days
when wolves fight.
‘Snow White’? No. No fairytale. Snow white? Yes: blue white. She white?
No negress. Days when howls fright.
Dressed white? Yes. Hat with ear-flaps down; stole around
neck; knee-boots; ankle-length coat; knees under bearskin rug; seamed white
nylon stockings; ermine garter: left thigh. Mittened hands within hare-fur
muff. Split-open pink-flashing hot muff within rabbit-fur
panties. Nights of owl flight.
She looks forward four ways. Quick glance eyes not believed.
Not four eyes looking horizonward? Four brown eyes staring at
starkly crisp world? Surely not so? Two brown
eyes steal out from under fur hat and over her fur stole. Yet two more ‘eyes’
also stare where the distance is at. Her nipples protrude; her breasts are
nude, and bitten by the freezing frost.
……………………..
So many of the pines had
been hacked for fire logs, that it was a wonder that the stark upright bare
trunk on the snowy plateau had originated from trees at the lower line of the
ex-volcanoes steep sides. The purpose behind, one-hundred years since, making
ten poor girls haul it up the mountain track, under the lash, to its current
station, where it had been erected upright in the permanent ice, was soon to
become self evident.
……………………..
The Czarina held her gloved
hand up, and ex-sergeant Butt slid the bearskin fur off Seraphima’s lap, and
the lovely negress, her bare breasts cruelly cold bold
protuberances as she daintied, alighted her delight onto her tiptoes in the
clinging chill of the mountain air.
“You will strip yourself completely
bare”, the Czarina bade and poor Seraphima must obey.
“I will not have clumsy
servants in my employ. You will strip yourself naked for us to enjoy”, Glorinda
gloried, as she rolled the words of her role into the steaming vapour that
uttered with her utterances to the entrancing negress.
Seraphima knew the brutality
of this order from the test that her bare chest had already given the vicious
cold. Yet she knew she must obey or be returned to the iron bars of the
three-thrust cage, in which she had been imprisoned when accused of assaulting
the Girl-Police.
As she unwrapped her arctic
fox stole and handed it to Cretina Critic, Seraphima’s hands shook with her
terror. She had already handed over the muff, and now removed her mitten
gloves. The glory of her black beauty began to tell its story in the
contrasting white of the snowline’s bite.
At the removal of her hat,
the torment in the poor negress’ wonderfully warm eyes
showed despite her fight to make it not so.
Reaching up her coat,
Seraphima eased down her rabbit-fur-knickers still hot from her humid body and
sweet with a slick of her Aroma-Arabic’s scent, from her ascent to enjoyment of
her humiliation, despite that she was so ashamed that her body betrayed her so,
before they had bared her tits to the torment of the cold, to cool the ardour
in the pink of her harbour.
As she leaned down to unzip
her right boot, Seraphima’s tits rolled round to swing in gravity’s gentle cling,
to make belle bells knelling that she was heaven.
The coat must now go, and
Seraphima must now know how horrible it was undoubtedly about to be there, to
be in the frosty air bare.
As she undid the gold
buttons and unhooked the gold hooks from their gold eyes, Seraphima felt the
inrush of the cruelly cold air, to the comparatively thin lair of clothing she
did still wear.
Even as she removed her
coat, she hugged it to her already shivering body to try and soak in the last
vestiges of its comforting warmth, as she stood in her skimpy last vestments,
but the unchivalrous ex-Girl-Police, tore it from her gentle grasp, and left
her with nothing to clasp, as her body began to twitch and goose-pimple in the
murderous cold.
Seraphima’s lovely eyes
looked for mercy and saw only lascivious lasers lusting after her lovely body,
as the Czarina ordered her to continue to strip.
With her impractically but
prettily long fingernails, Seraphima struggled to untie her pubic hair from
where it played double-asp to her Cleopatra, spiralling around her
inspirational thighs, because her hands were made clumsy by the fact she was
now one whole shiver.
As she fought to unclasp her
suspenders and lift her ermine garter so that her thin stockings slowly slid
down her superbly smooth legs, the struggle was worse still.
The laces of the waspie were
all but impossible for fingertips that could no longer, she felt, feel. And yet
she obeyed and opened it wide to let the bitter cold inside, and her body St
Vitas dance with the cold’s inexorable advance.
To be made to bare her feet
in the snow was surely more than Seraphima could bear, and yet she did as she
was ordered, and eased off her boots and stockings, till her beautiful black
body was bare, completely and utterly bare, bar the ermine garter on her left
thigh, which she moved to remove to get herself totally obediently nude.
“You may leave the garter. I
don’t want you to die of the cold”, the Czarina cruelly mocked.
As the breeze blew to freeze
the naked Seraphima’s passionate veins with its freezing kiss, she danced with
her arms around her chest and her lovely legs wrapped tight around each other
as if she would squeeze the remaining warmth in the depths of her sweet body
out to her beautiful black soft smooth carapace.
“You will stay naked for one
hour. For you to stay alive for that endless time, you will find it best by far
to keep moving. To keep your mind and body sound, you will need to keep warm.
And the best and only way for you to keep warm, will be for you to masturbate.
But I do not allow my maids to masturbate. So if we see you
exciting your lovely body, you will be whipped”, the Czarina announced.
“Oh god! Please have mercy on me!!” Seraphima begged.
The tails of three
white-leather bullwhips trailed in the snow. Each bullwhip was laced with a
half-dozen razor blades embedded in its knot-weighted tip. As the Czarina
cracked her whip to show she meant what she had said, the blades sliced the
ice, and only god knew what they could do to Seraphima’s sweet flesh.
Her feet already numb,
Seraphima danced, as her teeth chattered uncontrollably in her head. And
despite that she knew what it would bring, she dived
for the warmth of the clothing on the sled, tripped on her pubic hair pigtail
and slid-fell in the snow.
And the ex-sergeant’s whip
whistled brutally, and gave her a blow, that caused her to scream as a stream
of her blood flowed from the cuts in her sweet arm, as the whip did its harm,
and the poor angel knew she must suffer anew, if she did not get more warmth
than her mean menial garter knew.
As she squatted, sobbing in
her pain, Seraphima was one long shiver in the bitter bite of the wind that
blew on her naked limbs. And now she caressed her arms to try and give them
warmth. And next she ran her dainty frozen hands down her handsome squatted
thighs.
But, as she caressed her
chilled breasts, the Czarina decided she was masturbating, and a white-snake
whip whistled, and Seraphima screamed as it wrapped
rapidly around her squatted body, and it razor-edges-embedded-tip, the skin of
her beautiful bum ripped, so scarlet on the white snow now slowly dripped.
Seraphima now begged and
begged for mercy. She knew she had to masturbate in order to stay alive. And
she knew all to true that if she did so the whips would flay her.
Her begging was
indecipherable. Her constant shiver in the bitter cold made it impossible for
her to unlock her jaw. Her pretty hand reached down between her heavenly legs.
She knew she must masturbate before it was too late. She whisked her love lips
with the frisk of her hand threshing them and thrashing them to bring on the
glow that a girl knows when her heat rises with her arousals arrival. And the
slash of the whips on her bare back raised a livid welts
that flowed a crimson river, and still Seraphima fingered her quiver to stop
the endless shiver.
And she toyed with her clit
as the whip split her thigh, and her blood spilt to the ground nigh. And she
rubbed her tits on her thighs to keep her nipples alive. And the whip sliced
her back across her shoulder blades. And Seraphima came. But she needed this
again, and again, for the only way for her not to die in the cold savage snow,
was for her to masturbate to make herself glow.
And so she played loves tune
on the most sensitive instrument known to girlkind, strumming her lips like a
lyre, as her back was flogged to add fire to the spice she must work from her
cunt, if she was to stay alive in the cold blunt, as a snow scurry increased
her hurry, and she masturbated herself to a gain, of coming yet again.
And then she continued to
play her frozen fingers in linger over the lips of her sex, and to rub hard on
her nub and to poke in her hole to stoke the fires her strokes must inspire, if
she was not to expire. And the whips took her thighs, and cut them as she cried
with the horror of the pain, but still masturbated over and over again, to keep
alive her lovely flame.
Strumming guitar on the
strings made by her love lips, Seraphima’s tune was crescendo ascending the
highway to heaven, as she masturbated as she must to survive in the brutally
bitter cold and deep dire frost, that bit every millimetre’s millimetre of her
naked flesh, as the pain of the marrow chilling cold, told its toll in her
unstoppable shivers, and the quivers of her breasts, as she threshed her love
lips with fresh zest, to save her poor life in the cold strife, of her naked
nudeness, bar the cynical cruelty of her single ermine garter on her superb
left thigh: a black beauty like a shadow in the snow’s drive, as they whipped
her with the razor loaded white leather bullwhips, to punish her for
masturbating, even while she masturbated furiously, in order to stay alive.
“Stop this filthy whore
masturbating!” the cruel Czarina charged.
And Seraphima screamed as
she was seized my her pubic tresses and dragged across the snow, a slithering
black honey, swishing and switching bewitchingly side to side as she was slid
in the snow, so cold on her naked body, despite her eager endless masturbation
to keep the fires of her human spirit from flickering out in the bitter winter
cold.
And her breasts were pressed
out at her sides of her trunk as they dragged her on her front, like a foul
drunk, by the hair of her cunt. And she struggled and failed to prevail with
her hands and lost, to stop herself being hauled through the snow to the wooden
post.
Dragging Seraphima to her
frozen feet with the hair of her head, she saw with horror the holes in the
side of the post and the height at which they were fed. This was not in the
script and no compare with the bars of the iron tricorn cage instead!
“Mercy!” she screamed. “Oh
please god mercy”.
But they hauled her to her
feet and then the tips of her toes. Then they tied her to the post with the
pubic hair of this rose. Then they drove in a nail so as to keep her pubically
publicly arranged, so that the rosebud would stand gibbering shivering on
tiptoes arraigned.
But Seraphima’s eyes were on
the horror of the holes at each side of the post, and she knew what was coming
to hurt her the most.
And they tied her wrists
above her head, and flogged her bare back until it bled. And the red ran over
the bum of the rose, and dripped to make pink the surrounding snows, as the
whips in the same snows slithered, before they swished through the rare air and
brutality delivered, on the sweet soft skin of the naked frozen negress, each
stroke a step in the progress toward when she heard the horror of the clink of
hammer and nails. And to the wooden upright her tits they impaled. And she
screamed in her pain and horror, as they smashed the nails through the sides of
her tits with a hammer, and sexually crucified the black angel to complete her
fate, as her punishment for letting herself masturbate.
As Seraphima shivered and
shuddered nailed to the post by her tits, they did not neglect the hits with
the whips. And they flogged the poor rosebud to keep her alive, for the bite of
the cold was to the core of her inside, for she had been naked in the snow for
over an hour, and still they whipped the lovely black flower, and the whips
tails trailed in cold pink snow, where Seraphima’s blood had been mixed to make
it so, and her back was flogged to poor bloody ribbons. And she cried on the
post to which she was nailed by her tits, as they flogged her to punish her for
rubbing her nub, and her cries were not of pain but of gain, as she came with
cum on cum again and again, and the core of the poor angel was cold to the
quick, as her naked body in the snow was still whipped as down the post a trail
snailed. And her proboscis clitoris uncurled and rubbed on the equally upright,
to which she was nailed.
And the last cry she uttered
was from the uttermost of cums, as she slumped in her bonds overcome with pain
and joy, as her punishers their whips continued to employ, on her thighs as she
sighed at the thunderstorm inside her honeypot. As down the post she slipped,
and her tits were ripped on the nails, as she slumped in a faint, overcome by
her cums, and her breasts took her weight, as she moaned with pleasure, as the
nails through her tits proved inadequate measure.
The final scene of the film
showed Seraphima in slumber, her body bleeding from stripes without number.
Lost to the cruel cold world in which she had been refrigerated, as her lovely
body with the razor whips was serrated, her tits nailed to the upright because
she had masturbated.
As another white flurry of
snow blew over her naked black body, Seraphima stirred and smiled with her deep
down pleasure, as she hung from her tits nailed, with her cums echoing off the
Richter Scales. As the camera showed the pink of the snow below her body, and
the slick of her honey on the post to which she was nailed, naked in the snow,
but for the one mocking garment she had been left to wear on a left thigh
without pareil. The single garment on her totally naked body.
The garment that glowed in the snows increasing flurry.
The garter of soft warming ermine that crowned her glorious
thigh.
……………….
The ‘clip’ ‘clop’ ‘clip’
‘clop’ of the ponygirls’ hooves took
The two ponygirls pulling
the trash cart were eased to a halt outside
“Good mornin’ darlin’!” the
cheerful driver called, as the breathless, breathtaking,
“You Mrs
Jonson?”
“No. No. Ntbeli.
The name is Ntbeli”,
“Oh. Oh dear. Not sure we’ve
got one for an Ntbeli” the driver mused resignedly.
“’Ere Jo, tek a look at that
one at the back will yer”, she then commanded to her lovely assistant, who now
climbed onto the cart.
“Sorry ‘bout dis luv.
They’ve really fucked it up today, if you’ll pardon my language. List and load labels is sposed to fuckin’ match ain’t dey.
At least yer’d fuckin’ think so, wunt yer?” the driver mused in her amused
mocking tone.
“’Ere den. You’re a crackin’ little darlin’ ain’t yer”, the
driver continued, as her eyes mentally undressed
“Yea! ‘Ere's an Ntbeli” the assistant now called,
distracting the amorously inclined driver’s attention from ogling the
discomforted
And, as if she had entirely
forgotten that she had just been attempting to date the gorgeous
……………….
The driver and assistant
having just gone, Marina and Camilleona removed the hood and untied the gag.
With scissors they cut the long jute bag. Slowly the filthy bloody body of the
barely alive Seraphima was revealed.
After
Camilleona had already
lowered her top and now knelt and proffered her right breast to Seraphima, who
suckled eagerly.
“We can wash her down right
here. Then we need to take turns to lie with her, to get her body warm. I’ll
take first turn”,
After Seraphima had been
bathed clean,
“Come back in an hour please
Camilleona. And we’ll see if she wants the tit again”,
……………….
For all Seraphima herself
knew, it might have been days weeks or months that she lay there, or later in
her bed instead.
Her recovery was slow but
certain. Her mind was lost for a long while. For that same long while, she was
sure there was an angel reading by her bed. A little blonde girl with lovely
grey eyes would read to her.
But the comfort Seraphima
took from these visits, was as much from the view up
the angel’s skirt exquisite. For there indeed were the gates of heaven, pure,
and innocent, and hairless: tiny and tight and shaped like a keyhole. The
little girl seemed careless of what she was showing, but, when realising, then
blushed scarlet, before playing lovely harlot, and letting Seraphima continue
to see her love mouth.
……………….
Kate was now a regular
visitor to the Ntbeli household. Despite that
……………….
It had come as no shock to
Seraphima when
Over the year that had
passed, whilst she had recovered, and got back to full fitness by running and
swimming, she had been no slouch in noticing how Marina and Camilleona held
hands, when they thought she was not looking.
And that fact in turn had
come as no surprise, when Seraphima fitted those scenes in with her recall of
the two sat together at her trial, and the look of
love in Camilleona’s eyes then.
As Seraphima sat in a
deckchair beside the swimming pool, pretty Kate kissed her bare thigh.
“Do you want me to promise
to obey if we get married?” she asked.
Seraphima took the angel’s
chin in her hand, and ran her thumb over Kate’s ever-moist lips.
“There are things you need
to know about me”, Kate whispered intensely.
……………….
The click of Camilleona’s
high heels broke the spell.
“Camilleona bring her wine
all chilled for her two lovely friends”, the eponymous Italian sweetly
announced.
“We soon need new servant. Me and Miss Marina go
Seraphima beckoned her to
take a seat. Camilleona was no longer a slave or servant now,
she was part of the household on equal terms, along with Marina and Kate. Of
course counting Seraphima herself, the ‘Ntbeli household’ was become, and was
agreed should stay and be, a four girl institution.
……………….
Camilleona
gone, Seraphima turned to lovely Kate once more.
“Do you think we should have
a trial marriage whilst Marina and Camilleona are away?” Kate blushed, as she
tried not to let her lovely shyness show in her adorable face.
“What were those secrets?”
Seraphima gently enquired.
“What secrets?” Kate teased.
Seraphima brushed her long
fingers longingly down Kate’s soft cheek.
“I’m a virgin”, Kate
blushed.
Seraphima clasped Kate’s
hands in two gentle hands of her own, and longed to kiss her.
“I’ve never had periods…… I
don’t have monthlies……… I’ve not gone through puberty……. I’m not a woman……. I’m
still only a girl…….but I’m a woman in every other way”, Kate whispered, with
fear in her lovely grey eyes, those eyes looking for the rejection she was
terrified she was about to incur.
Seraphima looked at the
angel, and raised Kate’s now slumped forward head with a hand under her chin.
“Will: ‘I love you’, and:
‘Will you marry me sweet adorable Kate?’, do as
answers?” Seraphima whispered intensely.
The two girls now kissed to
bliss, as blessed as two humans can be, till heaven relocates to earth: two
compassionate coins of inestimable worth.
As the two lovers now sat, with
Kate on Seraphima’s lap, Kate leaned her head on Seraphima’s breast and
whispered, with mischievous minx in her golden giggle: “I can also be very
naughty. You may have to spank me!”
……………….
As Seraphima rose from the
bed, before covering the still sleeping Kate with the duvet, and taking herself
to the shower, she put the tumbled Mandy off the floor, and put her back into
Kate’s sweet arms.
Without opening her eyes
Kate took the teddybear and held it innocently, continuing all this while a
sleeping angel.
……………….
A month was a goodly time
for a honeymoon. But then, if you were to travel as far as
For Marina and the newly
minted Mrs Camilleona Ntbeli, the honeymoon was over, and their flight would
touch down at ‘Ntobi International’ later that day.
At the call from below of:
“Cooee! Seraphima! Are you up and about sweetheart?” Seraphima switched off the
shower and, dripping wet still, dashed to put on her towelling robe, before
rushing to the stairs.
“Oh god Marina, you gave me
a shock!” she cried as she rushed to kiss her ex-wife, and her ex-wife’s new
wife.
“You’re not due here for two
hours yet”, she gabbled.
“Sorry sweetheart. We got an
earlier flight. Oh, and a following wind. Where’s Kate? I’ve got a surprise for
you two. Where’s Kate?”
“Still
sleeping. What’s the surprise?”
Seraphima asked with kittenish curiosity to the fore.
“It would hardly be a
surprise if I were to tell you”;
“It’s my wedding present for
you and Kate, if you must know”,
“Do you want to get Kate
downstairs or shall I show her later?” she then enquired.
“I can’t wait for later!”
Seraphima exclaimed.
“Okay then. But you must
close your eyes and keep them closed till I say you can open them again.
Camilleona and I will lead you. It’s in the kitchen.”
“Now, do I hear a promise to
keep your eyes closed until told?”
“Okay! Okay! Okay!”
Seraphima exclaimed, “Look. My eyes are closed”, she giggled, just after she
had made herself go cross-eyed, and held her eyes looking down her pretty nose,
making
“I’ll put a blindfold on you
young lady, if you can’t behave!”
“My eyes are closed! Look!
Look! My eyes are closed!” Seraphima insisted with excitement in her lovely
voice, and with her eyes really closed this time.
Two hands now held
Seraphima’s, and led the sweet negress angel the short
distance to the kitchen.
As the kitchen door was
closed behind the assembled trinity: “Open them!”
As Seraphima opened her
devil-deep-dark-chocolate
Her face, the heart-rending,
heart-stopping face before her, was heart shaped, and white as the fullest full
moon.
Delicious freckles frolicked
delightfully lightly across the pretty little nose.
She was ghost pale by
nature: the same nature that had given her, her near translucent complexion.
Her stature and stance were
all that was queen.
Her eyes shone ice-green.
The apparent apparition wore
her glorious golden red curls, in teasing pleasing tumultuous swirls, that tumbled in copious cape, from her lovely head,
to dangle and dandle, below her very trim ankles.
As she bent her
exceptionally pretty legs in a complete-and-utter-obedience
“Good
morning my lady Seraphima. I do
so hope you will be pleased to accept me as your slave”, Teasetta Loveschild
whispered.
The End
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