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Disconnections
- a series of stories -
by Eve Adorer
Jade Munroe
Synopsis: All must fall?
Jade Munroe
In the beginning it had always been the same. She never used
Emily’s name.
At first Emily had assumed she was a student; then a
postgraduate; then she had realised that, whatever her background, she was
there every Saturday. She looked maybe twenty-two to twenty-five.
‘The Bookworm’ was a shady cool hide off the humid hot High
Street. It was one of the latter day miracles that it had survived into the
world of ‘Books R Us’, ‘shopping experiences’, and the newly found taste for
‘literature’ among the organic potatoes and feta cheese on the counters at
every MaxMart Superstore.
The stock at ‘The Bookworm’ was cleverly selected, and
covered from the sublime and wrongfully neglected, to the downright eclectic: a
dark corner specialism being ‘top-shelf’ classics.
The survival of ‘The Bookworm’ was no doubt aided by the
fact that Barnmouth, ‘an undiscovered jewel on the south coast of
Emily McVane, forty-year-old shy spinster and brilliant
design engineer, had a particular taste in reading.
That first time with a mezzo-soprano: “Sorry madam?” the
counter-girl had sweetly requested a repetition of the too sotto voce order,
and, as Emily’s eyes had shied from the surprisingly firmly sculptured
cleavage, she had smelt the sweetness of her breathtaking breath, and seen her
heaven high cheekbones, as this girl had asked her to repeat her embarrassed
mumble.
Here and now today, on her tenth consecutive Saturday visit,
all of them timed to ensure being served by the same girl,
Emma was only a little less diffident about her latest quest and request.
She should have thought of asking for it before. It was the
long shot of long shots, but one never knew. ‘If you don’t ask you don’t get’,
as they say.
“‘Bella Donna’s Deflowering’, by Penny Traitor, the 1957
soft cover original?”, Emily asked again, feeling the lobes of her ears burn
with her embarrassment, to the degree that caused her to remove her glasses and
rub their lenses vigorously with her handkerchief.
That action was always a cover for Emily’s shyer moments, in
consequence of the many of which, the lenses of her glasses were always
spotlessly gleaming.
As she seemed to constantly, the
girl smiled with her lips, and her lovely eyes, her emerald eyes, glowed. Her
soft coral lips parted. And her scrupulously white, perfectly arraigned teeth,
told that sweet laughter was no labour for her. By contrast with Emily, she
showed no sign of embarrassment whatsoever.
Emily replaced her bottle-bottom-thick lenses on her nose,
making her cold light-blue eyes go owl, and looked at the face, pale as a lily,
and either without any, or with makeup superbly disguised to look non-existent.
Exceptionally pretty, the sweet face was framed by her
blonde hair: hair that was cut boyishly short, even to the degree of her having
a side parting; but making her look all the more feminine for it.
As the girl smiled, her lower eyelids puckered to emphasise
her eyes’ glow and the love that she comprised in and of herself.
Before Emily’s eyes lowered from the bookshop girl’s
confident unwavering challengingly attractive gaze, she noticed again the
single central dimple in the jaw-line of her delicate chin, and concluded that
god must have held her head up with a thumb there, whilst she put the finishing
touches to the face of this exceptional exemplar of the loveliest of her
creations.
‘Jade Munroe’ was the name in black print on a white ground
on the rectangular plastic badge pinned above her left breast, by the clasp
through her woollen sweater.
She wore a white veeneck that her ample chest was making
fulsomely handsomely fascinating. She had its long sleeves pulled up to just
below the elbows, baring her slender arms. Emily gazed at the profuse soft
golden down on the girl’s forearms, and noted the trivia that she had tucked
her handkerchief up her right sleeve, giving her a ‘Popeye’ style muscle,
misplaced immediately above the crook of her elbow.
As Jade stepped from behind the counter to the corner where
the symbols and cymbals of the orchestrated porn clashed clarion clear: in
seeming descant, over the creaking oak floorboards sounding dissonant below her
five-foot-seven one-hundred-pounds without ounce of superfluity, her
clit-twitch creating onomatopoeic clitter-clatter of four-inch stiletto heels,
beat erotic time: ‘tip-tap floor-rap, tip-tap contact, tip-tap compact, tip-tap
impact, tip-tap floor-rap, tip-tap contact, tip-tap compact, tip-tap impact’,
as she wiggled her delight of light steps to the corner, to trace where the
little boys blue came for scores with which to play slide trombone on their
horns.
Jade’s tautly tensioned legs were long fit and sensuously
seductive: not least for the ecstatically electrical silent shush swish shush
of her clinging black miniskirt on black stockings’ darker tops, as she briskly
whisked along, almost all but rubbing her nylon stockinged thighs together, for
her steps forth were toe before heel before toe before heel ‘tip-tap floor-rap,
tip-tap contact, tip-tap compact, tip-tap impact’. And from rear the seer was
speared by sure shaft of arrow through heart shot, as her gazelle gait rocked
and rolled her rebellious rear.
Jade’s walk was nature nurtured by deportment, and as
important to her intimate potency as the wonderful wandering wobble bobble of
her thirty-eight-D-cup bosom, diving and rising divinely: divided undecided, as
to which bonny breast should absorb the inspiration of the spring from the
recoil of her seductive steps, and so taking to bobbing and nodding, united
like loving twin sisters, together, challenging the dazed onlooker to assess if
her breasts were cupped in a bra, as they surely could not be, and still float
and rebound so far.
The contemplation of the arousing rub of Jade’s naked
nipples on the woollen sweater as she walked, and the scent centred slit
sliding slickly slipperally within her anticipatedly attenuated tiny panties,
would give a hard-on to a hell-bound hermit, such was her evident litheness,
and the lure and lust for her physical love, Jade’s mere being created:
‘tip-tap floor-rap, tip-tap contact, tip-tap compact, tip-tap impact’.
……………….
Emily’s expectation of a find was not high. ‘Bella Donna’s
Deflowering’, by Penny Traitor, the exceptionally rare 1957 soft cover original
print, published in limited numbers by Phallus Press, was a collector’s holy
grail. One had sold at a book auction for three-hundred dollars, and that had
been five years back. Such a price marked its rarity.
But, for the moment, Emily had something completely
priceless on her mind: the stunning seductiveness of the lovely Jade.
Impossible to follow suit with the conspicuously unconscious
fact, that Jade’s body made her walk like that, the dumpy overweight
short-sighted seed-gone-to-weed forty-year-old tousled-untidy-mousy-to-grey
Was Jade relaxed, because she was assuming that, it being
girl with girl, there was no concern about the wonder her wiggle wander yonder
to ponder the pornography preponderant on the shelves in the nether corner of
the shop, could stoke to provocation?
They passed the shop’s one kick-stool, and Jade turned and
smiled with sunshading glory, before returning to it, to play soccer ball
‘dribble’ with it, showing her shapely legs’ lovely muscles, as she propelled
it to the station she knew she needed it to be at.
“There was a whole stack of novels put temporarily on the
top shelves earlier this week, by my colleague. I’ll have a riffle through for
you madam, and we’ll see what we can come up with”, Jade’s lips pronounced,
pronouncedly performing perfection, as they pouted the air with their silently
shouted prey kiss me prayers.
That corner of the shelving reached, Jade smoothed down her
miniskirt to keep its hem from risk of rising, before stepping on the stool.
But, as Emily watched open-mouthed, the younger woman
reached higher aloft, and her hem disobeyed, and rose above her wickedly sinful
black stocking tops, to flash the superlatively soft smooth completely
unblemished complexion of the tops of her hugely strong thighs, and the bottoms
of the cheeks of her rotund rock-firm bottom.
Then, as Jade reached yet higher still, her left leg’s
curvaceous calf was turned to tantalisingly taut muscle, by her tiptoe rise to
a height on the stool, higher than her mere high heels giving of leg-appeal,
she also raised her right leg out of her shoe altogether, so she could reach to
see the spines on the topmost shelf.
And her pretty fingers played piano along the lucky spines
of the books high on the highest shelf. And, for counterbalance, her right leg
was kicked into a curve where her toes flicked back as her calf touched her
thigh. And the shape her leg formed knew no comparison with anything that could
be anything but less beautiful than her right leg’s majestically magical
agonisingly magnificent curves.
And Emily’s gasp as Jade flashed the gusset of her
criminally crimson thong, when she reached her slender arm for her fingers to
just grasp a volume, receding nearly beyond her touch, were masked by the loud
‘ping’ and echoing ‘dings’ of the shop’s doorbell, sounding, as if in surprise
signal of first prize being scored, as Jade showed where first prize was
stored, whilst also being bidden to obey the need to attend to a new customer
that had arisen.
As Jade’s toes sought to return to the refuge of her
high-heeled shoes, Emily watched the entrancing dancing flexes of the smooth
muscles in her right calf.
As she rearranged her misbehaving skirt too, to Emily’s
discerning eye, she thought she espied Jade blush, as if she had not realised
the extent of her seductive exposure of whole legs, stocking tops, strained
suspenders, bare thigh, bold bare bottom, and her tiny tautly tight
thong-panties.
As Emily willing followed the wander of the willow-wand
wonder of Jade’s wonderful figure back to the shop counter, Jade announced,
apparently innocent of the duality of the implications of her siren statement:
“I think I may have got something that will please you very much indeed,
madam”.
At and from behind the counter, there was another ‘ping’ and
echoing ‘ding’ of the doorbell as the other customer, mind changed and empty
handed, left Emily and Jade alone once more.
At and behind the counter, Jade’s lovely little hands with
their perfectly manicured curved-corner-square-ended long fingernails, held the
book she had seized from the shelf, up at a thirty degree angle from the
counter top, to display to Emily, the gaudily coloured illustration of a girl,
that could have been Jade herself, undergoing sexual torture on its front
cover.
“It’s slightly foxed I’m afraid. And, as we haven’t
catalogued that corner yet madam: should we say: twenty dollars?” Jade’s
inspiring lips enquired, kissing every lucky word.
From the internet, where she had seen that cover depicted,
and read and re-read the contents of the novel itself: countless times, Emily
knew she was looking at a first prize apprising her of first prize.
In microseconds she saw the 48 point heading over the
illustration, trumpeting the book’s contents as the work of authoress ‘Penny
Traitor’ and, below the illustration, in smaller print, scarlet red gothic and
distorted to appear as if it were blood flowing, the title of this, the very
first and therefore rarest of Ms Traitor’s oeuvre: ‘Bella Donna’s Deflowering’.
And her heart jumped as its pumping raced. The erect logo of the Phallus Press
in an oval on the bottom right-hand corner confirmed the McCoy of joy was real
and ready to be reeled in, and for only twenty dollars!
This was a miracle
discovery. To mere mortals it was crass trash, but to a selective elect few, it
was El Dorado’s gold.
Emily prided herself that
she was among the select elect of connoisseurs of one-handed literature. This
was the Everest of sadomasochistic novels. This was a palpable hit. Her pulse
raced as she fought not to show in her face, that she had scored a bulls-eye,
and for only twenty dollars!
“I’ll take it”, Emily
whisper-croaked, and then cleared her throat, acting indifference to the best
of her limited ability, as she handed over her Amex to answer the ringing up of
the antiquated till, as its drawer shot open at Jade’s button press request,
and its bell’s ‘ting’ echoed still.
Was Jade more shy than even
Emily?
A slide of a delectable
forefinger, that should have been teasing a penis, over the embossed green
rectangle, preceded: “I’ve always loved the name ‘Emily’”, and an enquiring
look at Emily that said that she, Jade, had noticed how she, Emily, came into
the shop every Saturday without fail, and always ensured that she, Jade, served
her.
Jade knew she was spice. She
knew she was sugar for lust. She knew she enticed. She knew where men and women
wanted their fingers thrust. She knew she had longed-for lips twice twice:
indeed, her lower pair enfolded her guiding light.
Jade knew too true too that
she bewitched Emily. The leg display had been no accident. Jade loved to please
with tease. She loved to be desired and to inspire want for her. Emily was
obviously hooked.
To Jade
this older woman was intriguing. Jade had no girlfriend at the moment. The
notion of a little adventure with Emily had been a seed sown, when Jade had
first registered Emily’s eyes compelled to ogle her legs: that is, from the
very first time, ten weekends since, that Jade had stepped from behind the
shop’s counter, and been made to blush deep scarlet by Emily’s evident desire.
Now Jade’s pretty fingers pulled lengths of transparent
adhesive tape from the machine on the counter, leaving her fingerprints, even
these erotic, on it, to aid her wrapping the bought book, skilfully neatly in
plain brown paper.
And, as she pushed the parcelled book, and disguised prize,
over the counter, her sweet face looked Emily eye-to-eye. And the absolute of
absolute miracles for the reticent shy reclusive Emily was heard, unbelieved by
her for seconds that seemed like hours as they flashed by, when she heard Jade
say coaxingly brightly: “I’m free on Sundays Emily. Why don’t you ask me for a
date?”
……………….
At two the following afternoon, the next day, and therefore
a Sunday, Emily paced by the lions’ cage of the Fordbridge Zoological Gardens,
her heart pulsing madly as she waited and prayed for Jade to turn up.
The jeans were a disappointment. Not the way they hugged
Jade’s swinging rear, but for the fact that her legs, the two highways to the
seat and heart of her fire, were hidden.
But the smile was genuine gold, and the promise of a kiss
from lips so lovely and lively and divine, if she was truly lucky, sent
rapturous shivers down Emily’s spine.
What could two girls so contrasting have in common? The one
a frump past her ‘sell-by date’ in her teens, and now a middle-aged lonely
loner; the other an angelic heavenly deeply beautiful vivacious walking talking
giggling smiling laughing loving girl, sitting now sipping tea, with her pretty
wonderful pretty legs in jeans: sitting her delicate whole, on the wholly holy
hole of her irresistible deep down devilishly desirable florally-fragrant cunt?
Well: just as some girls love father figures, so this lovely
loved older women. Shy too, Jade looked at Emily and saw the maturity and
imagined accompanying accomplishments and bedroom confidence she initially
looked for in her would-be lovers.
League and legion were Emily’s predecessors, but none was
legendary. Jade was young, just twenty-three in fact, and needed not to worry
or hurry about finding her dreamed of lifelong partner yet.
To the adorable Jade, all of Emily’s shortcomings were
plusses. A splendid illustration of the mysteries of a young woman’s psyche,
was that the more Jade found disappointment in the real, over her initially
imagined Emily, the more she liked her, and the more that liking grew to love.
Jade’s foremind never acknowledged it, but there was much of
the bridesmaid compared to the bride in her personality.
To be the really pretty one when they were out together, a
role Jade could hardly help but fulfil, made her heart
soften for Emily’s lost looks and youth. To be taken for a daughter, appealed
to Jade’s secret desire for a mother she had, as an orphan, never known. And
what more compact combination could there be than ‘mother’ and lover in the
same person?
Although too, Jade told herself constantly that she sought
competence and confidence in bed. Truth said, she
loved to be fumbled and felt clumsily. And to be left
frustrated at every turn, turned her on tremendously.
To be left in bed awake and tossing and turning and burning
for a cum, whilst her sated lover snored contentedly, having left Jade as
frustrated as if she had been frigid, was the truth of the state of Jade’s
desires that she had not yet had the damascene awaking to realise.
True too, was that Jade wanted the humiliation of being
taken by unattractive women. She wanted to be despoiled and soiled by clumsy
tumblings that would leave her in a furious fire of unfulfilled desire, by a
woman whose very fact of being her lover, to be brutal to the likes of Emily,
degraded her.
Yet all this masqueraded as sweet charity on the surface. And so too it was. Jade was loving
and wanting to please, and to give pleasure by being the treasure of women such
as Emily. And she would never hurt them by admitting that they did not complete
her physical needs.
The surface was real and so too the subterranean psychology.
Jade was a brightly intelligent girl. She had long known the meaning of the
word ‘masochist’, and was certain sure that she was not one of those. She therefore
did not know that she was one of those, and that it made her fling her beauty,
to cling out of duty, to those whose fruit she could plainly see, was
weathered, withered, and sometimes even wizened on the vine.
……………….
“Hold your head right back my darling!”
The friendship grew from dream to reality, and almost made
Emily forget her scheme. The meetings grew from weekly to nightly and all-day
on Sundays. The two fizzed the email and text waves too: Emily from the
hand-built sports car factory, at which she was the chief design engineer, and
Jade, when she could spare the time, from the bookshop, which she in fact
owned, as Emily had subsequently discovered.
Jade was skilled at taking the lead from the rear. She was
giving Emily the confidence that the older woman had only ever had in
fragmented amount, hitherto disaggregated if not disintegrated.
The meal at ‘Minx’s’ had been where it had truly begun.
Emily could not take her eyes of Jade in her cerise evening
gown. The flash of the stocking-clad lovely’s lovely left leg as the angel
approached the table, caused her to rise as if in applause, till Jade had
approached her would-be chair. And for Emily to hold Jade’s seat till the
gorgeous creation sat centrally, snuggling down on her fragrant cunt, was
reflexed and natural.
Jade blushed with the honour performed her, and at the
compliment it paid her.
The meal progressed, with the billion-dollar Jade, making
the two-cent Emily feel a trillionaire, as she watched the younger girl’s mouth
and longed for the kiss she had, even yet, not known.
Jade was happy to steer from the rear in all things; but
was, naturally as she saw it, leaving it to Emily to make the approaches to
kisses and bed.
Yet too, Jade had been thinking about that choice of
approach and come to the conclusion that it needed a little urging on.
“When are you going to show me your place? I’m longing to
see ‘Nelly Farm’ again. I used to play there when I was a little girl. The
orphanage had a summer residence next door. It must have been demolished five
years ago, just as I left for university”, Jade enquired and informed.
“I’m always free on Sunday”, she added with her dazzling
green eyes cast down, as if there could be any doubt that her invitation to
herself would not be refused by the woman she was seeking to put it into the
mouth of.
Jade did not object to the wine Emily poured, to near
overspill, in her, Jade’s, glass now. But its rosé was
no match for her seductively succulent lips, as she sipped and made even the
wine ‘mere’ by sheer comparison with the incomparable: the wonder of all
wonders: of all wonders the most wonderful of wonderful: a girl.
…………….
“Hold your head right back my darling!”
The invitation made, Jade needed to be a little tipsy to be
brave. She had been bedded before and, though she flawless, it had all but
always been flawed. She had been both hurt and hurt by her first time, and
still was hurt in her heart and nervous to part her legs; though as longing for
the deed as they were long: and so very long, and so very longing indeed.
Her deflowering had been exceedingly painful. God had made
her unbreachably tight. She had been taken without foreplay. She, unlubricated,
the boy’s cock had ripped her asunder, and she had screamed with the pain as he
took her nonetheless, carried away on lust’s crest, and animal with his rapine
thrusts. She had bled for days and, in her innocence, thought the
twenty-seconds it had taken for the boy to shoot his seed, had ruined her for
sex forever, and that she was bound to bleed, not just with her miracle
monthly, but clock round indeed.
By sweet contrast, her first experience with a girl in the
showers at school, had been a revelation. She had been
the sixty in the sixty-nine; but scored none out of ten for her inattention to
anything other than the immeasurably unbearably beautiful sensations from the
tongue circling her clit. And she had cum for the first and many immediately
following times in her sweet young life, as she laughed and cried with joy and
loss at one and the same time.
Ever after it had been disappointment. Jade did not know it,
but she looked to be let down.
Her de facto rape had sown strange seed indeed: not from the
spunk that had been shot hot on her naked thigh, as her shy boy spurted his
load from his blood-coated cock, whilst feeling guilty for rocketing-up
immensely erect immediately again, from enjoying her pain; but from the furious
fire from her sundered and plundered innocence, and the excruciating agony of
her jaggedly raggedly ripped, raging raggy raw raped bleeding heaven hole’s
hymen.
In Emily’s car, as the sweetly tipsily drunken angel rested
her high cheekbones on her shoulder, the scent of Jade’s hair flared lucky Emily’s
nostrils, and the ‘go’ glow in the glorious eyes and the lips offered to the
kiss longed for, turned to sweet smile of understanding and patient wait, as
Emily resisted and refrained, only to gain Jade cuddling closer to her still,
once more again.
“Hold your head right back my darling!”
As Emily began to drive, Jade at her side let the slit in
the side of her long dress do its best to show off her exceptionally shapely
left leg: a leg of such wonderful curvature, as to serve up such erotic dreams
as could only be matched, if one had the chance to stare, at its equally
sublime twin, equally bared.
The white lace garter on the stocking tops shaded-circle,
clasping the thigh with its frills, thrilled. The interwoven crimson ribbon
that was tied around to fix it to the thunderous strength of the hugely strong
and yet sweetly beautiful upper limb, spilled its tails trail on the seat
replete with Jade sitting centrally on her sensationally sedulously sensuous
cunt.
As she noticed that Jade seemed to have dared to be bare,
and that there was no evidence of panties consequently there: Emily’s clitoris
danced at the glance from the glory of Jade’s innocent emerald eyes.
And Jade’s eyes, lighthouse beacons beckoning siren for a
reckoning wreck on the flawlessly complexioned slopes, by their looking down
that way, showed Emily the valley where the melonic hills, with their ruby-pink
diamond hard peaks, would sunder her love boat: the soft rise and fall of
Jade’s breasts, with their magnificent cleavage, aheave from her sweet zephyrs,
and seemingly throbbing and bobbing with the beat of her gentle heart.
The hand offered for Emily to touch as she drove was
touchingly pretty. Jade sighed to let Emily know she was longing for her
fingers inside her, and let her dress’ skirt flirt for her, as it swept off her
knees and let show both her wondrous thunderous thighs, so very massive, but
still somehow of proportionate size, with the source of her sauce in the
crucible mid their soft muscular and incredibly carressible insides.
………………..
“Hold your head right back my darling!”
The wheels of Emily’s auto scrunch-crunched on the gravel
that covered the drive sweeping round before the old farmhouse in which she
lived alone: the throne in which she had thrown the investment of her handsome
pay for her working day, and all she owned.
As Emily made exit, Jade still sat in the car, rightly
expecting and expectant of Emily opening and holding open the passenger door
for her.
“Thank you”, Jade breathed and smiled with divine lips: nips
hidden throbbing and clit secretly bobbing, as she displayed the amazing glory
of surely the most beautiful legs ever made.
Car exited, Jade stood upright, and her dress swept its
skirt around to hide the profound wonder of her lower limbs, as she found
herself under polite escort from Emily, who would always hold the door for the
girl she now adored, and let her sweep in sensationally rapturous slow motion
penis-grind before her.
Of course it was good manners, but so too was it to follow
Jade’s walk, pure joy: for her walk conspicuously clearly confirmed that she
was no boy.
As they rose up the stairs with the rose without compare
before under Emily’s stares, Jade’s apprehensiveness of physical love came to
the fore once more, as she was reminded of the agonising pain of her
deflowering: an event that had inhibited her ever since, bar the one once
instance of love with her best friend at school in the shower, to number one of
the 69 rules, after they had both got sweaty from playing squash.
As they entered Emily’s upstairs living room: “Wine?” Emily
enquired, but Jade’s answer was only golden girl’s glittering giggles, and
pretty hands on sweet lips, as Jade’s eyes swept the upstairs main room in
which Emily dwelt, and saw the knickknacks that Emily had built.
The wall lights that flickered on,
were sculpted like pairs of pear-shaped breasts. A toaster dormant on a corner
table, ready for breakfasts to come, was an open cunt, inviting a slice of
bread to be fed. The light switches were nipples, the sofa a huge pair of
seductively-red mouth lips, with a long rude red tongue licking out.
And there, in the centre of the room, was the
pièce-de-résistance, a huge hugely-erect ‘penis’, made from stainless steel,
and either calved or cast such that its very throbbing veins were very real.
Its prepuce was rolled back ready for purpose, and its head, complete with
deep-crease septum, seemed to know Jade was there and long for her with an
imagined throb.
It stood, one-and-a-half-inches diameter at its widest,
forty-inches up, straight upright from the floor, and had two massive
‘testicles’, which were so wide-spaced in the modelled scrotum, it was as if
they were being dragged divided in divine torture.
As Emily busied herself in her kitchenette, seeking the
bottles of rosé she had been chilling in her refrigerator, Jade, a dance of
deliciously embarrassed giggles galore, daintied around the creaking uneven,
seemingly sagging floor surrounding the phallus, and her giggles reached a
helpless screech, when she saw that the model penis had with pubic hair been
made replete, by some bulrushes Emily had slanted in a holder placed for where
there, fore at the floor.
As Emily came back into the room, she found Jade almost wetting
herself with her giggles: giggles the lovely girl only curbed when she realised
that she was making her titties dance divine spice for wicked vice, and that
Emily could see, as the vibrations of her lovely merriment rocked her, that her
chest was unencumbered by a brassiere, and her stupendous pendulous bosom was
aswing, reverberating saucily seductive ‘come hither’ with her helpless,
helplessly lovely, girly laughter.
“I’m so sorry” Jade tried to say, but she blushed rosé
herself, as she fell hopeless prey, as her glistering giggles again held sway.
“No apology needed or sought darling. What do you think of
my little toys?” Emily enquired, with the first look of true deep love for her,
that Jade had yet seen.
“You made them yourself?!” Jade answer asked amazed, in a
momentary pause in her giggles, while she wiped a lovely laughter tear
precipiced in one sparkling emerald eye.
Emily’s first confident smile was Jade’s only answer. And so
the young beauty danced her divine loveliness over, and kissed Emily’s cheek,
as she repeated: “You’re a genius!!”, before the music that god has as her
muzak in heaven all day, played here on worthless earth: a girl’s mirth: and
Jade’s giggles once more made her unrestrained breasts beckoningly sway swing
and dance at play.
“Are there any more?! Take me on a tour of your palatial
residence madam!” Jade teased sweetly, as her eyes shone with gleaming beams of
astoundingly seductive flashing dangerous green, and her mouth wreathed a smile
so lovely that the words to describe it have, as yet, no dictionary seen.
“Emily. Sorry. Please. Must be all this silly giggling…”
Jade began, as she demonstrated with a reprise: “May I use your loo?”
Jade was surprised now. That Emily should follow her to show
her where the lavatory was to be found, was nothing profound. But Emily’s
reluctance, her showing no wish to depart as Jade sought to leak her gold, soon
signalled that to be present during this intimate act would, to the older
woman, be seductive fact.
Jade was not giggling now. Before she sat gently on the
lavatory seat, centrally sentry to make her lovely water, all Jade had to do
was to sweep the skirt of her dress aside. And so Emily knew true that Jade had
worn no panties the whole evening through.
Then Emily’s engineering showed ingenuity anew, as a light
in the bowl threw its spot on the centrality of Jade’s full feminine animality,
and a camera, projected on the wall, the site and sight of the pod opened to
spill the sweet wine mulled by her body: the site and sight of her exciting
cunt, readied for the exiting of her bacchanalian fountain stream.
Shocked at first, Jade was soon flattered as she realised
that, even down to this about to be event, to Emily she mattered. And in the
microphones too, two, all too attuned to pick up the hiss of her pissing, Jade
could almost hear her heavenly heart’s heartbeat, and she blushed to know that
there would be a recoding of this intimate show, with nought missing.
The swept around skirt of her dress covered Jade’s superb
thighs, as she pissed, with her eyes sweetly lowered, because she knew she was
lure, because the hiss of her pissing a parabolic golden rainbow of her
ochre-tinctured treasure, which tinkled and troubled the waters in the toilet
bowl at their leisure, was replayed on a projector on the wall, which showed it
all, from the first enquiring squirt, to the long flow of the finest wine in
the world, with the whirl as her piss curled hot in the cold waters below,
troubled thus to bubble, till her finishing squirts as she flirted with her
peeing to please her enraptured lover.
“That’s better”, Jade whispered shyly, as she rose, blushing
deep red rose for knowing that she was creaming from having her pissing
recorded and projected as an act of wall screening: only to see Emily in
apparent distress.
“I’m sorry my love. Did you hope to drink my piss? Jade
found herself surprised to be asking, somehow knowing it was how she had
disappointed.
Then, to the silence in eloquent answer: “Later Emily. I promise
for later”, she blush-whispered as she kissed Emily’s cheek, with her
butterfly-wing-soft lips.
As Jade moved to leave the bathroom, Emily caught gentle
hold of her oh so sweet fingers, and whispered: “Will you let me watch, as you
go down naked on ‘Johnny’ for me?”
“Johnny?” Jade queried, her lovely eyes shining her natural
loving nature.
Emily made no answer, and that was the most voluble answer
she could have made. Her eyes were lowered such as to indicate she knew she was
asking too much and, as such, without need of speaking she told Jade exactly
what she was seeking.
Jade blushed at the very thought of what she instantly
realised was what Emily sought. And her renewed giggles verged, as she
calculated if she could please, and that tempted her to tease.
“Oh! You mean that? It’s huge!” Jade began to giggle with
love; yet, as she thought of it, she knew she was creaming her myrrh, and it
came as no surprise to her, as her voice voiced with nervous meaning: “Okay”,
as she hung her head to pose a poised posy bouquet, suffuse with a rush of the
rosiest of roseate full flush dark red blush.
Emily knew that Jade wanted to undress alone, and so left
her in the bathroom, and sat herself on the ‘mouth’ sofa with its long ‘tongue’
foam cushion, and bright rouge ‘lips’. But not before she had removed the
‘pubic hair’ bulrushes, and raised the lights, and set the recording cameras.
At first, Jade shyly put her head around the bathroom door,
as if she need be ashamed or even, heaven forefend, as if her beautiful body
might disappoint, or somehow offend.
Then, her eyes lowered, and she came out, and walked supreme
dream to the phallus, confident in the overwhelming beauty of her supreme
femininity after all it seemed: though even in this her
shy eyes looked for reassuring approval.
But, on the onlooker’s side, as Jade, totally naked, came
into the room, tears came to Emily’s eyes, for neither she nor the universe had
ever seen such wonderful wonder as the beauty of Jade’s naked body.
Sufficient unto desire is the girl in the here and now. And
here and now the seductive power of Jade’s sheer magical majesty was evidently
elementary in the merest flick of her fingernail’s tip’s tip, let alone in her
face, her arms, her breasts, her belly, her belly button, her back, her bottom,
her thighs and her legs. And above and beyond all in her legs, and in her legs,
and in the shapely curves of her legs, the careering curves of her lovely legs,
and in the blonde nest between them, now seen openly scene, since hitherto only
flashed in camera, on camera, been.
And Jade lowered her eyes as she wiggled to the upthrust to
which she was about to entrust her envelope’s pink tunnel, blushing as pink as
it, to know she was going to masturbate in front of the girl she loved, for the
lust of the girl she loved, and for knowing that she was already wetted for the
task for which she was whet and to which wedded.
And Emily wondered how Jade had prepared and where her
pretty lucky pretty fingers might just before now have been.
But Jade was wet already from the display she had, without
dismay, made of the spraying of the perfect parabola of her pussy-perfumed
piss.
As she raised herself to the highest peak of tip of tip of
her toes to seek to get the phallus inside her rosette sheath beneath, and thus
parting her neatly cropped blonde bejewelled quim lips, Jade let Emily hold her
dainty left hand.
And as the phallus slowly filled her, Jade’s eyes glowed
with its boldness and its coldness and its unresponsive rigidity. And it
biblically knew her, new in her. And she lowered her lovely legs, so that its
unrelenting thrust, pushed her lips wide, as the
rolled-back mock-foreskin went inside her salivating cunt. And she sighed with
pleasure pain, recalling her virginity being ripped by rape again.
Hidden behind where Jade squatted, with the luckiest phallus
in the world, filling her full to her brim within her myrrh musk lubricated
gripping-inside pink sided quim: Emily worked a remote control she had grasped,
and Jade gasped as she felt a needle-sharp something rise up slowly out of the
septum, but knew not what it was, or what it was for.
To please her love and pleasure herself, which was one and
the same, Jade prepared to gain a lift onto top tiptoe
again, so as to shag herself on the stainless steel mock penis: Emily’s
favourite baby, filling Jade to her womb so hugely ably.
But now Emily had come round to the front, and was working
with the remote no longer remote, but shown so Jade now saw, to operate a
guiding blade Jade felt stealthily rise inside her: her super-sensitivity
telling her that something extremely sharp, and thus supremely able to pierce
her soft innards, was rising from the crease crack septum in ‘Johnny’, and was
already pressing prescient.
“What are you doing sweetheart?” Jade asked, curious at the
feeling inside her, as if she were being injected by the longest of long
hypodermic needles, yet still trusting the older woman only to be seeking to
enhance the shared pleasure of watching a beautiful girl masturbate, and being
the beautiful girl masturbating.
In her only answer, Emily pressed another button on the
remote, and the room echoed with Jade’s scream of astounded absolute terror, as
the floor she made wholly holy with the tips of her toes, suddenly showed
itself as trapdoor: and the holy rose was impaled on the penis, as the one and
only means for her to find redress from gravity’s haul of her, down into its
loving arms’ caress: for the phallus on which she rode thrust up her rose pink
road, ran down all the way to the ground floor fifteen feet below.
Jade knew now the look of cruelty incarnate, as she saw
Emily’s eyes, huge owl-wise wise behind her glasses, focused only on causing
her terror and pain, as she screamed and gasped with horror, and fought to keep
the tentative tip grip of her big toes on the phallus’ mock testicles.
“Hold your head right back my darling, if you don’t want it
to go through your brain!”, Emily advised.
Jade’s eyes flooded with tears as she begged understanding
of what Emily was meaning: and then she cried “Oh god no!” as it dawned in her
mind and it was as clear as a picture she had recently seen, obscene, how it
was to go; where she was to go; and what she was to know, and how it would soon
have been.
“Oh god. What have I done to
deserve this? Why? Have pity on me please?” Jade begged in total tears. But
Emily still pressed the next button and the ‘testicles’ fell to the floor
below, leaving Jade to grip the phallus, already far up her, with the loving
strength of her league long and very strong lovely legs; but which were not so
gripping of the stainless steel as to stop its slow and certain seeming rise;
which was in fact Jade’s slow and certain fall, in the guise of disguise.
And yet. And yet.
With all her screaming, Jade was creaming. Her utterly beautiful beautiful legs
fought to stop her slide ride, but inside she was slick with her myrrh, and her
cunt was no use in stopping the phallus’ inexorable rise within the pink palace
of her princess’ insides, as it followed the path that the preceding knife had
mapped.
As her legs displayed to the maximality of their stunning
wonder, the incredible power of their grip, and Jade waved her lovely arms to
find even a straw to save her from her descent into hell, amid obscene screams
as the phallus, lubricated profusely by her betraying musk, ripped slowly but
surely through her guts, Jade somehow heard Emily again call: “Hold your head
right back my darling”, as Emily now dashed down the stairs to witness the
culmination of the wonderful Jade’s arrival at her lowly terminal station
destination.
“Hold your head right back my darling! Don’t let it go
through your brain!” Emily now called from below again, either for love of the show, or for the girl on the slide with the penis ripping
through her insides completely inside.
Jade only knew the agonising pain as the knife guided her
skewer’s trip. And she had realised the only way to survive, was to hold her
head back and pray would happen what now happened as the knife arrived and she
roared with raw agony’s agony’s agony’s agony, as the tip of the phallus rushed
out of her mouth, and Jade knew she was impaled from her north to her south,
and she knew she was skewered right through her beautiful body in the maximum
of fallopian fucks.
And Emily clicked a button on the remote, and the knife, its
duty done, retracted within the penis’ septum again, and left Jade to slide
down the pole that had ripped right through her from hole to hole.
And the phallus rose above where Jade’s tongue performed
long fellatio on the mix of blood and myrrh that had lubricated her enduring of
the ultimate rape, from which there was no escape, as her escapade made her
slide, with the head of the thrusting penis obscenely seen, thrusting out of
her innocent trusting mouth right through her insides clean.
Jade’s pitiful cries gurgled bloody as she continued to
slide impaled on the obscene pole up through the holiest of her three holy
holes, till it thrust out of her mouth so she must fellate, without pleasure at
the unromantic penis’ unrelenting measure, with a mix of shocked pain and
terrible fear that surely her death was near. But also of gain, for the pole
poured with her pussy juice, and her pretty hands could now gently grip, the
phallus she was caressing like a lover, as it through her still slowly and
certain-surely ripped.
Landing on her tiptoes, her legs displayed splayed by the
force of the rod up her still salivating cunt, Jade’s lovely green eyes looked
up at the heaven from which she undoubtedly came, and knew she was sent for her
myrrh, and her frankincense, and the dark gold of her pubic hair, as her tongue
licked the blood off the pole running up her hole and out of her mouth in the
fulfilment of the fullest of foul fucks north through her mouth to the cunt in
her south.
After the slow scream and silent glide of the descent, Jade
stood, her parted legs either side the fallen testicle balls: her long lithe
languorous luscious delectable delightfully deliciously decidedly femininely
formed delicately muscular legs, forced on the tip top of the big toes cruelly
square on the ground in the lost fight to hold herself higher: legs the slope
of an unequivocally unparalleled provocatively erotic equilateral triangle.
Her glistening gold down decorated
delicate forearms aiding her pretty hands caressing of the spike on which she
was impaled, as if it were the tenderest of tender lovers. The erogenous
roundness of her simply stunning firm bare buttocks, with their sides dimpled
deep concave by her seductive stance. Her breasts adance with
her gurgling breathing. Her nipples throbbing with the
evident evidence of her conspicuous arousal also causing her tits’ slow
bobbing. Her head bent back at right angles, her glowing green eyes open
wide and wider, and blinking seemingly unseeing with shock as they stared, if
they would or could but see, at the roof of the room above the room she was now
in. Her ever-shining ever smiling eyes showing, not only that she was
miraculously still alive, but that her mind was her body, and her body her
mind, and both blind to all but the intimacy of the interminable spasms from
her eternally infinite eternity of orgasm’s orgasm’s orgasms, as, even yet, she
danced her dainty feet, to shag herself on the penis pole completely replete.
Jade flexed her lovely legs, flashing her fine feminine
muscles in calf and thigh, as she sought thereby, to lift herself off the
horrible pole, an impossible goal. Or was that indeed her quest? She was in
continuous rapturous orgasm nonetheless.
Her body now gleamed with sparkling diamonds reflecting and
refracting blue-white lightening-bright light, as her every gorgeous pore,
poured her pure sweet sweat, and it trickled down her god-given curves, till
she was sheened and shone with a halo glow, from her blonde head to her
tiptop-tiptoed-big toes.
And yet even her sweat could not resist her legs yet. And
two tributaries of her divine saline, paid tribute to her legs divine, as if
cried tears, as they trickled over the exceptional curves and swerves of her
thighs and calves, in dutiful full worship of their overwhelming beauty.
And Jade worked herself on the pole, gurgling
her joy, as her tongue fellated the lover that fully filled filleted and
fulfilled her. And her mind screamed that she knew she was enduring enjoying
and enjoying enduring the ultimate orgasm, but that she did not know if she was
in antepenultimate ultimate, penultimate ultimate, or the ultimate ultimate
orgasm; or of where when what and which orgasm she would surely die.
And yet still and more Jade shagged herself pinioned on the
pole, working her glorious legs to shag on the peg up her holy hole, knowing
heaven before heaven, was here on earth, as she orgasmed and orgasmed for all
her ebbing life was worth.
Smiling shyly, Emily looked at the wonder of Jade in her
torture, and at what she, Emily, held in her hands. The picture on it was
identical. Save that one was live and the other was over-florid art: the
picture on the book and the girl gurgling blood before her were identical.
Emily admired the cover of the copy of ‘Bella Donna’s
Deflowering’, by Penny Traitor, the exceptionally rare 1957 soft cover original
edition published in limited numbers by Phallus Press. The
collector’s long longed-for find.
Both in the picture and here and now, they were impaled on a
spike that ran up through their cunts and came out of their mouths.
But one had a marginal difference.
By the pin driven through the dancing nipple of her left
breast: the nipple of the live girl: the living organism slowly dying from the
exceptionally extremely excruciating agony of her ever mounting orgasms, was
appended a name on a rectangular plastic badge in black letters on a white
ground: an exact replica of the badge she wore in her bookshop, save for a few
lines of addition: the badge now reading simply: ‘Jade Munroe – the absolute
personification of beauty -1983 to 2006’…
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