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Review This Story || Author: Eve Adorer

Disconnections

Part 8

Disconnections

Disconnections

- a series of stories -

by Eve Adorer

 

Woolmart Girl

Synopsis: Sometimes beauty has bounden duty.

 

Woolmart Girl – Part 1

Poppy Heavenslove had ambition. Her work as a Woolmart counter girl was just a recovery stepping-stone. In the pocket of the smart red and white vertical-candy-stripe blouse, her youthfully full, fully firm bosom, gave plentiful double, undivided divided interest to, she had an invitation to an interview up at ‘the big place’, as everyone in the English coastal town of Barnmouth, styled Barnmouth House.

 

Well, okay, it was not exactly an invitation. It was just an advertisement from the ‘Jobs on Offer’ column in the ‘Barnmouth Bugle’; but Poppy was sure she could get an interview, and why should she not get the job?

 

Why the other girls at school, university, and now here at the Woolmart store, didn’t hate Poppy, was one of life’s mysteries.

 

She was an outstandingly attractive girl.

 

Other girls had pretty faces, but the eighteen-year-old Poppy’s face was simply lovely. Her eyes were sulphur-gold. Her hair a myriad of miraculous blonde curls caressing down to the nape of her slender neck. Her lips showed the negress influence of her grandmother: sensuously full and pouting passion-provocative. She smiled when she wasn’t giggling, and giggled when she wasn’t smiling, and the sparkle of her lividly luminous eyes, amid the spectral white of her freckle kissed face, showed she was genuinely that genuine.

 

Other girls had shapely figures, but Poppy’s curves demanded their own theory of geometry to define the unparalleled parabolas they described.

 

In summation, full bosomed two, she had a waist that would make a waif look obese, and a rear that, though not winning the race to fully match the two she fored above, was superbly full and firm, and confirmatory from its signals as she walked, with it’s competing hemispheres waging war in waving semaphore, that this was undoubtedly a girl.

 

Other girls had pretty legs, but Poppy’s outran them all for long lithe lissomness, smooth muscularity, and a proportionality of shapeliness in swerves and curves, that were so lovely, that they caused most of the wolf-whistles she deserved and was duly served. And nobody wolf-whistled Poppy once; not when she went to such great lengths as to give them two such long strong curvy causes.

 

She was also, oh so gentle and caring, that, were it not so wonderfully natural, it would have seemed as false as a politician.

 

All the other girls loved Poppy. She was outstandingly outstanding among them; but they were never jealous of the attention she always got, to their shaded second and third place, because they accepted it was what she deserved. And true too was it, that Poppy never pushed herself forward, or forced them aside. It was just that in the bouquet, she was the most delightful of the delicious flowers.

 

The Woolmart chain insisted on uniformity of uniform. And that uniform took on new form with Poppy to fill it. Whilst the other counter girls took on anonymity in the donning, Poppy’s smile and charm shone so, that she spun the heads her way. She stood out from the herd, because she was outstanding, and not only titularly.

 

Woolmart, the ‘dime store’ of long ago history, had been staid in outlook since its 19th century founding in the USA. Here and now in 21st century England, it had got what is old-fashionedly called, ‘with it’.

 

The counter girls’ hemlines had risen, with a resulting corresponding rise in sales and, one dare speculate, an equal rise in the blood pressure, and the heart-attack count, among its customers.

 

With Poppy’s blouse in the Woolmart colours, went a black poplin skirt, and seamed black nylon stockings, supported only by ribbon-tied frilly garters, in the red and white candy-stripe of Woolmart, to be worn at the stocking tops.

 

Hemlines at no more than one inch below the buttocks, and a directive that (1) this was compulsory, (2) that only Woolmart issue red and white candy-stripe thong panties were to be worn, (3) that all Woolmart girls must be hygienically shaved, (4) that the best selling goods must be located on the very bottom, or the very highest shelves, (5) that no girl needing to bend was ever to bend at the knees, and (6) that all stepladders and kick-stools be withdrawn from stores, had come from the grand dame, Fredericka Wilhelmina Woolmart, herself. The massively increased custom it generated, had saved the long historic family firm she ran from her wheelchair, from bankruptcy.

 

The final threat to those with concern about heart-shock or a stroke, had been the adoption of heelless ballet shoes as the uniform footwear.

 

Poppy’s long legs were incredibly beautiful even when she merely slouched and slummed in trainers. To extend her calves and tension her thighs and buttocks, by making her stand and walk, permanently on top–tiptoe on the squared-off toes, of red and white candy-stripe calf-leather balletic shoes, was to exhaust the descriptive powers of poetry prose and music, for the compelling wonder of the wonderfully artistically exceptionally erotic result: a result that would make the finest portraitists throw their brushes aside, resigned to their inadequacy to portray such shapely curves.

 

“Yes?! So?!!!!”

 

2052 was just another among the recent tough years for girls. The supposed threat of overpopulation had been as exaggerated in the 2030s, as the danger of global warming had been in the first decade of the 21st century.

 

But the inevitable outcry that government must ‘do something about it’, had led to the choice-pill, and the financial incentives for taking the pink pill before and during pregnancy, rather than the blue. Thus science had made the world more beautiful, by increasing the female portion of the population, to ninety-nine percent, and correspondingly reducing the overall population, as women were consequently without enough sires to breed from.

 

Unfortunately for women, the accompanying technological revolution had worked the opposite way. There were plenty of girls available for the employment market, but so little work now that a machine could not do, as, or more efficiently, and more cheaply, that there were few jobs for humans around.

 

Meanwhile, oil had dripped its last drop, and only girls were available in any number, to hew coal in the mines to provide basic energy needs.

 

Poppy had been lucky. Academically she had been brilliant with a starred double-first spinster’s degree from Fordbridge at age thirteen, and doctorates in mathematics, and chemistry by the age of fifteen.

 

But the world had no need for even such wonderfully intelligent gifted and educated girls. The few jobs of substance were rationed. Wealth bought and brought a position in life. Poppy’s mummy was poor. Poppy had been lucky not to have been sent for breaking as a ponygirl, or to pedal drive one of the huge dynamos that, these days, provided power for the town’s homes, street lights, factories, and offices.

 

“Yes?! So?!!!!”

 

Her luck had been in the draw held at her post-doctorate gathering. She had drawn a red and white candy-stripe straw. She rejoiced, kissing all her fellow pupils. She knew she had won the prize her friends, ordered into the mines, or to lactate on a milk-farm, longed for: she knew she was going to be a Woolmart girl.

 

But Poppy Heavenslove had ambition. She knew too that she must forget that she had academic attainments of such glowing brilliance that they almost outshone her physical and facial beauty. Her mind, with the sharpness of a razor’s razor’s razor’s edge took her way beyond the merely beautiful to the outstandingly stellar stunning. She was a girl in a billion.

 

She knew also, that she must subdue and subliminate her sublime brilliance, to her physical sexual charms. It saddened her that her mind must be wasted on makeup, and ensuring that her mouth was moist and kissable, and that the seams of her stockings were straight. But these were the main demands on a Woolmart girl.

 

At school and university, she had been the chair of the National Institution for Promoting Proper Legal Equality, and, on the slope given her twice-boldly-bulged blouse, by her fulsome firm and gentle left breast, had worn its badge with the proud initials: “N.I.P.P.L.E.”.

 

“Yes?! So?!!!!”

 

Poppy had been, and still was, a soldierette for the equality of all girls with each other, and the few lucky men that society continued to allow among its sweet scented sisteren.

 

Poppy’s ambition had, over time since her graduation, become as limited as the length of her skirts. Her new ambition, the arrival of which begins her story, had begun with a customer. Customers are customary in Woolmart of course, but this day, this customer, was clearly completely special.

 

She was a negress, perhaps thirty-years-old, at least five-twelve tall, with the demeanour and the figure of a catwalk model. Feline similes and metaphors would be to the fore in any description of the lithe glide of her walk, and her purposeful poised, perfect peace possessed movements.

 

“May I be of assistance madam?” Poppy’s lovely face smiled, without the smile being of any remark, for though it was truly remarkably lovely, it was of no remark that she should be smiling, for Poppy was always smiling.

 

The face that looked up, the face of the tight-coil-curl-crop-topped negress, the queenly face of a princess among women, showed a visage breathtaking in vision.

 

The eyes, were deep down soulful brown. There was a delicate flare to the nostrils. The proud lips of the small mouth, were prayers from rather than to heaven in their poised pout, and seemed to be shouting without speaking their kisses out. The lightly furrowed brow, as she turned, formed part of a smile of recognition of the matching and opposite pole, in the loveliness of Poppy, so ghostly white in contrast with the supreme dream of the negress’ own creamy smooth dark coffee black.

 

Poppy blushed. Her face flushed. This customer was not merely exceptionally lovely; she was agonisingly beautiful. Poppy knew right there and then that her heart and mind had fallen, and head was over heels in the cliché metaphor that defines love.

 

The negress looked kindly and gently at the Woolmart badge blazoned on Poppy’s chest, and smiled at what she read, before she looked lightening-shafts straight into Poppy’s pretty eyes, and thunderbolt devastation thus derived, arrived.

 

“’Poppy’. What a lovely name!” the negress gently whispered, with a hint of kindly amusement, suggestive of personal charm to match her visible physical charms.

 

“Thank you madam”, Poppy gasped, as she fought and lost the battle not to lose countenance in front of this wonderful woman: and her blushing head hung with her chin on her chest as if in shame: the shame she had no need for, and which it would be a shame if she truly felt the same.

 

“Can you be of assistance? Well yes my dear… Well yes Poppy”, the lovely negress teased, with her confident voice conspicuously clear contralto concerto, “I am looking for some toys for a pet dog. Silly really. I haven’t chosen one yet. I was thinking maybe pedigree… I’ve engaged a kennel keeper….”

 

Recovering her composure, despite the dampness in the crotch of her panties, a wetness that Poppy hoped her fellow shop-girls would not see, Poppy’s sweet arms and pretty hands signalled for the lovely lithe negress to sway her wonder ahead, as she led her, from behind, to a corner of the store, stocking balls, leather bones, even pretend slippers, for dogs to chase and chew, or chew and chase.

 

“May I guide you this way madam? We have, as you’ll soon see, a splendid selection of pets’ toys, including especially, and not least, those suitable for our canine companions”, Poppy delighted, surprised at her sudden salesgirl spiel.

 

A sale made, Poppy sighed aside as she watched the stunning negress waltz-walk her wiggle outside.

 

“’Ere you was doin’ alright dare Poppy me gel! I seen der way she looked at yer!!” Sarah, Poppy’s best friend at Woolmart teased.

 

“You do know ‘oo dat iz don’tcha?” she added, as she saw Poppy’s gorgeous freckle kissed face look deliciously perplexed.

 

The look on Poppy’s sweet face, and the tiny crease in her brow it was impossible not to wish to kiss away, told Sarah that Poppy was innocent of that fact.

 

“Well, my darlin’ gel….It’s only Lady Barnmoutherself!” Sarah concluded, before then smiling at the resulting look of total astonishment on Poppy’s acutely cute countenance.

………………

 

“Yes?! So?!!!!”

 

Poppy placed the newspaper advertisement down on the corner shelf. With the receiver at her left ear, the payphone enjoyed her right hand’s longest finger inserted in the coil of the cable of the handset, and flexing and twisting within it, as if enquiring exploratively inside a cunt.

 

On that same hand, Poppy’s delectable little finger curved up and flexibly back. And, whilst with her middle finger in the cable coil as if it were a vagina, she also played the cable’s spring coil properties into stretch and return, stretch and return, akin to as if she were playing with a foreskin in its turn.

 

Unbeknown to her, Poppy’s Woolmart uniform skirt had ridden high up her smooth thighs, and showed the base crescents of her rear moons. Thus from the rear, in her Woolmart issue red and white candy-stripe thong panties, her impertinently potent pubic pouch, was patently pert purse: hidden but unmissably unmistakably delineated, complete with the in-tuck close-closed tightness of her labia-majora, outlined by an exciting crease in her panties’ crotch.

 

“Yes?! So?!!!!”

 

As she waited for her call to be answered, her pudenda petals a posy on open display bulging out her thong’s crotch, unrealised by her sweet innocence, standing sex-on-legs on the squared-off toes of her heelless ballet shoes, she nervously played a lovely leg back and forth, thereby describing indescribably emotion-inspiring motions with her curvy calf muscle.

 

The ‘burrrp-burrrp; ‘burrrp-burrrp’’ continued continuously on the line, and Poppy had almost decided on abandoning her quest; when a clatter told her the handset at the receiving end was being lifted.

 

Poppy’s pretty mouth went dry as she heard: “Barnmouth House, Lady Barnmouth’s residence. Miss Geeves, Lady Barnmouth’s personal aide speaking. How may one be of assistance? One assumes one is not talking to trade?!”

 

“It’s about your advertisement in the ‘Barnmouth Bugle’…” Poppy began, before being abruptly instructed: “Will you kindly enunciate with more vocal presence and preciseness girl!”

 

“It’s about your advertisement in the ‘Barnmouth Bugle’…” Poppy repeated more boldly, yet more nervously still.

 

“And which adverteasemon would that be precisely?” Miss Emelda Geeves cold voice enquired.

 

“The one for a ‘maid-of-all-work’”, Poppy braved, despite the chill of the voice from the void.

 

“Oh really. That one. Oh well. One believes, one can fit you in next Tuesday at 10.00”, Miss Geeves responded.

 

“You mean I have the job?!” sweet Poppy innocented, in overreaction to her highly nervous anticipation of rejection.

 

“Young lady! Whomsoever you are, one would hardly imagine you could be so dull of intellect as not to comprehend that one was merely indicating the possibility of an interview!” the cold Miss Geeves froze through.

 

“I’m so sorry”, Poppy sweetened with her pretty lips kissing out every sincerely sincere word.

 

“One should hope so!” Miss Geeves commented tartly, sharply.

 

“Do you know the whereabouts of Barnmouth House?” Miss Geeves continued.

 

“Yes Miss Geeves”, Poppy answered, butterflies in a dogfight in her soft flat belly.

 

“The servants’ quarters are clearly labelled. Report there at 09.50 for a ten o’ clock interview. Don’t be late. What name should one record?”

 

“Poppy: Poppy Heavenslove”, Poppy answered, and, without her being able to add more than the opening of her lovely lips to say a sweet polite delight of a ‘thank you’, the call was abruptly cut to an end.

 

As she moved her hand to place the receiver at rest, Poppy’s lucky forearm, brushed the pert right breast that was lurking alluringly, and thus made to flirt under her blouse.

 

Poppy smiled. Now, too late for all she had been putting on display to cause others dismay, she realised how high her hem had ridden. But she did not care. The erotic mound in her panties was in command of her. Ever since she had met Lady Barnmouth in Woolmart that day, now two weeks since, Poppy had schemed to find a way to get to see and talk to the stupendous negress.

 

Though she might only be a Woolmart girl now, Poppy Heavenslove had ambition. She was going to marry Lady Barnmouth. She did not even know if Lady Barnmouth was already married. In her ingénue’s imagination, nothing was going to get in her way. A job as a maid-of-all-work at Barnmouth House was but an entrée.

………………

 

“Yes?! So?!!!!”

 

“Some of lady Barnmouth’s guests, may want to take you to bed. You’ll have no objection to that, one trusts Heavenslove?”

 

“No Miss Geeves”, Poppy answered blushing like a dew-dappled rose.

 

Poppy was an intact virgin. She was saving herself for the right girl. Despite her brilliance and her wonderful academic attainments, her dream, since her earlier teens, had been to meet an irresistible force, such indeed as Lady Barnmouth, and be swept off her feet to church, a carrying of her one-hundred-and-ten pounds of one-hundred-percent girl over the threshold of the shared new home, and a sweet saintly sacrifice in a first night wrestle and painful surrender in the marital bed.

 

Now she was being asked if she would be some complete stranger’s whore at that stranger’s whim. And, if she wanted the job she had schemed for as the first stepping stone on the ladder to get herself into Lady Barnmouth’s life and love and bed, she just had to say the ‘yes’ she had just said by saying ‘no’.

 

Miss Geeves had not, at this stage at least, turned out to be the frozen frump she had sounded on the telephone. Perhaps, like many people, she had a ‘telephone voice’ that misrepresented her real self.

 

Poppy, wearing her Woolmart uniform, the smartest outfit she, a poor girl poorly paid, had; had been aware, throughout the interview, of Miss Geeves appreciative eyes on her legs, and of those eyes clearly seeking to see if they could see that which would undoubtedly pouch out Poppy’s no doubt tight panties.

 

“You are an exceptionally attractive girl Heavenslove”, Miss Geeves sincered, as Poppy’s blush rushed to the colour that surely gave her her name. “One is certain that Lady Barnmouth will be more than happy to have you deployed in her household”.

 

“Thank you Miss Geeves. Do I have the job?” Poppy responded, with a freckle blessed face that the light of delight made even more dreamily delicious.

 

“Yes. Yes of course Heavenslove”, Miss Geeves responded, and then watched amazed as the lovely Poppy leaped to her feet on legs longer than life, but running far more smoothly, lissomed lithely over, and showered her in sweet scented kisses of shear innocent joy: Poppy hugging the would be frump, into a crumpled hump.

 

“Well really!!!” Miss Geeves responded, but her tone said that her voice was expressing disgust she, in heart, did not feel in any part.

 

A moments pause, allowed Miss Geeves to recover her poise.

 

“We had better get you ready for service right now Heavenslove, Miss Geeves opined in a return to her dedicated desiccated tone.

 

The vibrant vivacious Poppy stood ready with another sweet embrace that Miss Geeves longed to experience; but knew she must forego if this angel was ever to be of any use to Lady Barnmouth’s household.

 

Miss Geeves fought not to look at the sparkle in the shining golden eyes of the seductive Poppy, whose lovely face showed her overwhelming joy at having been accepted to work at Barnmouth House. Poppy’s look also showed her determination to learn the role of a ‘maid-of-all-work’ in every single detail. She would not disappoint. On that much Poppy was absolutely determined.

 

“Thank you! Oh thank you so much Miss Geeves! You won’t regret this. I promise you won’t ever regret taking me on. I absolutely never will let you down!” Poppy enthused with the softest sweetest sincerity, whilst recognising that her natural urge to embrace and kiss Miss Geeves in punctuation, was to be restrained and refrained from.

………………

 

“Yes?! So?!!!!”

 

As she stood completely naked before Miss Geeves, in readiness for her uniform, Poppy’s lovely eyes whispered: ‘love me’.

 

“My goodness girl, did god not know when or where to stop when she made your legs? I’ve never seen longer or more luscious legs in all my life”.

 

“Thank you” Poppy flushed and blushed, a girl in complete negation of her fight for her sisters when she had organised and led the N.I.P.P.L.E. at her school and university.

 

In the presence of this potently pretty pulchritudinous posy, with her freckle deckled angel’s visage, Miss Geeves had once again forgotten herself.

 

She liked her underlings to be vulnerable when she introduced them to their place in the household. Complete nakedness was perfect, even when the naked girl’s wonderful breasts, with their huge cone nipples, were swaying mesmerisingly seductively.

 

“I brook no indiscipline among the maidery, Heavenslove. I have dispensation from Lady Barnmouth to administer corporal punishment. At all times when Lady Barnmouth is with us, I keep a tally of the performance of the girls in her service. Each and every act of indiscipline scores a black mark. And, when Lady Barnmouth has departed, each girl receives as many lashes from the bullwhip, as she has bad marks against her name.”

 

In sum, have no doubt whatsoever, that if you are a naughty girl, you will be severely whipped!”

 

The sweet flush of healthy colour drained from poor Poppy’s face as she heard this.

 

“Do you understand?!” Miss Geeves demanded.

 

“Yes Miss Geeves”, came Poppy’s dry-mouthed whisper.

 

Miss Geeves then signalled Poppy to perch her pert bottom on a cool wooden chair, and brought Poppy the stockings and shoes she was to wear.

 

“I see that you are hygienically shaved”, Miss Geeves observed, making Poppy blush the colour of her pretty name once again, as she, Poppy, realised where Miss Geeves’ eyes had just been feasting.

 

“Yes Miss Geeves. It has always been Woolmart company policy….” Poppy began to answer.

 

“I am not interested in ‘Woolmart company policy’, Heavenslove!” Miss Geeves interrupted abruptly.

 

“I believe in the necessity for strict and complete hygiene. But I do not believe in shaving or the use of unguents. We will impose hygiene in the proper manner! You will let your pubic hair re-grow for the coming fortnight, and you will then have it plucked.”

 

And, even as her brilliant mind imagined the excruciating pain of having her pubic hairs individually pulled out with tweezers: “Yes Miss Geeves”, came Poppy’s terrified acquiescence.

 

The rolling on of the white sheer-nylon stockings, with their inlaid pure gold seams leading up to the pure gold rings around the very top of their saucy deep tops, was a seductive delight that the uncontrolled and uncontrollable sighs, of both girl and woman, as the stocks covered the thighs, told of the pure heaven of the shapeliness of Poppy’s strong unfathomably-long legs.

 

For now, the stockings kissed the lovely legs, relying only on their tops to grip Poppy’s thighs to hold them up, and thus failing and falling to her knees once more, as they inevitably slid down Poppy’s immaculately smooth soft complexion.

 

Now Poppy was made to sit again, and Miss Geeves took hold of Poppy’s delicate delight of a left foot. With Poppy’s pure-girl 110 pounds converting a chair to a throne once more, even Miss Geeves blushed at handling something so lovely. And to watch Poppy’s left leg as her calf-muscle curved her wonderfully, when Miss Geeves checked the flexibility of the foot, was no betrayal of shear eroticism.

 

“Yes?! So?!!!!”

 

The shoe was amazing. It was of stainless-steel with a core of gold through its heel and toe. And heel and toe were all but all it consisted of.

 

The toe looked like a golf tee. It was six inches long, tapering to a sewing-needle’s point. Miss Geeves put its cup-end over Poppy’s big toe, so that it contained her stockinged big toe, including her toenail and up to the first joint in that toe.

 

She then pressed the almost semicircular stainless-steel arch of the sole of the shoe, insofar as she could, to the warm sole of Poppy’s delightful foot within her stocking. But, not succeeding in bending Poppy’s foot sufficiently, resorted to the fastening of a buckled black leather strap over the mid-top of Poppy’s foot, and another broader black leather strap that would hold the shoe to Poppy’s dainty ankle.

 

Alternating straps to make them tight by turn, Miss Geeves ignored Poppy’s moans of pain when her foot was being finally murderously arched, and admired instead, the tapering stainless steel gold-cored heel, that ran parallel with the sole of the shoe, fourteen inches, till, just half-an-inch behind the six-inch stainless-steel and gold toe of the shoe, where it too became as sharply sewing-needle-pointed as the toe itself.

 

Repeat treatment on the right foot made Poppy’s feet replete with the minimalist shoes, and Miss Geeves ordered the angel to stand.

 

As Miss Geeves held her pretty hands, Poppy dared to stand, and cried out with the agonising pain, as she, wavering on her billion-mile-long legs, strong fit and athletic though they were, teetered on the brink of toppling in tumble, as the whole 110-pounds of her pure-girlness was pressed down on her big toes.

 

She stood on their six-inch tapers with an infinity of minimality of contact with the ground she made heaven wherever she stood, and which she still blessed with her angelic wonder, as she wobbled in her shoes and cried the gentle tears of a girl in extreme pain, with all her weight crushing her big toes, and only the minimal of minimal relief supplied by her fourteen-inch needle-pointed heels, so close as only to be half-an-inch behind her toes, she was so steeply steepled in stance.

 

Miss Geeves reluctantly let go of the dainty hands and watched the remaining four each of Poppy’s sweet toes, visibly curl up within the foot of her stockings, those toes being free of any engagement with Poppy’s shoes, and then at the girl teetering ever on the brink of falling as she swayed, her lovely body raised on zillion-mile-long legs, made longer by the six-inch toes and fourteen inch heels of her stainless-steel gold-cored tiptoe shoes.

 

“Stop crying girl!!” Miss Geeves snapped commandingly, as she walked around behind Poppy, to remove the chair, and thus ensure the angel could not sit down to relieve her pain.

 

It was thus that Miss Geeves glimpsed the pure perfection of the shape her sky-high heeled stance had given Poppy’s incredible calves, with their strong muscles risen heaven high toward the back of the knees, and then the double-deep-deep hollow dimples in the sides of Poppy’s beautiful bum: dimples caused by her stance, enforced by her fourteen-inch heels, which were causing Poppy to clench her buttocks extremely tightly.

 

“My heavens girl, if ever a bottom was made by god herself…” Miss Geeves muttered just loud enough for Poppy to hear.

 

Poppy fought her tears of pain and shame, and simple whispered in deep cruel embarrassment and the agony from her tortured big toes: “Oh please!…

 

“’Please’ what you little whore?! I expect you’re turned on by wearing those super-high heels aren’t you, you little tart? Are you begging: ‘please slap my bum?!’ Filth like you would be into such execrable perversions no doubt! I won’t ask, because I don’t need to ask if you always invite your girlfriends to spank you! You’re just a fucking Woolmart girl. You’re all the fucking same. Can’t keep your hands off each other. Kisses, tit-sucking, and cunt-groping in the stock room at every chance no doubt. Sluts! All of you Woolmart girls are just fucking sluts!!”, Miss Geeves sneered with heartfelt conviction, letting her usually excessively affected English, descend into the utterings of a woman from the same gutters from which she was convinced girls such as Poppy came, and could never leave.

 

The suspender belt came next. Its white lace-like waistband bore two side suspenders to slide down the sides of Poppy’s immensely strong and equally beautiful thighs. As a core within it, there ran a steel hawser with hoops at either and both of its ends.

 

The suspender belt rested at Poppy’s soft firm smooth belly, with the hawser hoops temporarily tied to each other above the small of her femininely arched back with a strong nylon rope.

 

In order to fasten the belt at the deepest curve of Poppy’s shapely waist, it would be necessary to draw the two ‘eyes’ in the hawser core together. To do that would need immense strength, or else the use of a steel bar through the temporary tie of the nylon rope, to turn the bar, and thus tighten the rope like a tourniquet.

 

Thus did Miss Geeves apply herself as poor Poppy, tottered teetered and close-near toppled on her big toe tips, sure she would fall, as her waist was slowly but absolutely assuredly, squeezed down from its perfectly delightful natural twenty-two inches, to a shear mere exact and not merely near, twelve gaspingly erotic inches.

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Review This Story || Author: Eve Adorer
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