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Home on the Range
by Eve Adorer
Synopsis –
Barnmouth was a typical English mid-21st century town.....
Home on the Range
by Eve Adorer
The tight blue light-blue denim skirt dinged bell on the belle as she glided, gilding the sidewalk with the swing of her hips and the tips of the tips of the big toes on which she solely trod; for her soles were as upright as her soul as she traipsed dance, sky-highed in ballet-shoes with no heel to seal her tiny touch on the pavement kissed to paradise parallel by her sweet steps.
Her emerald silk blouse was constantly in commotion as her forty-four-double-E-cup wonders, unconstrained and unrestricted, wilfully wandered, bounding bounteously free, but for obeying the biding bounds of her shirt’s pressingly tested and contested borders; with her nipples’ pert peaks near to puncturing as they twice punctuated the fabulously filled fabric with the word ‘girl’ and two full-stop poking periods.
The heart-shaped spectral face had shy dark brown eyes sparkling with the life and love that is a girl of eighteen summers: proud lips, moist mouth, swift soft warm smile, pepper of freckles and a look that shyly spoke: ‘I am unadulteratedly adorable, worship me’.
The legs were long shapely strong bare and albino white despite the summer sun that strove hopelessly to outglow the fall of autumnal copper curls that, when not lifted and dropped drape by the breeze’s loving seize and as sudden cease, cascaded wonderful wilderness waterfall down her arched back till bouncing softly on her devilling derriere as she strode.
The Asian-Indian angel in the pink shirt and matching micro-skirt watched and followed her with eyes that were drinking in the intoxicating beauty. An older girl with experience of the world she could not deny that her thoughts wandered and wondered if the russet hair found matching curls elsewhere on this bewitching girl. And her smile was appreciative combined with care when the girl hung her head with shame at her blushes when a building-site blonde called out to her in sexual song........
“You takin’ it for a walk den darlin’?”
....and the redhead the more hurried along.
....................
The very attractive Asian-Indian in uniform pink strolled tiptop-tiptoe-toed in her own ballets, heelless in pink, on her own beautiful legs. She had followed the stunning redhead before. The redhead was part of a new practise born from the protests and the consequent legislation. The dark-brown-haired dark-brown-eyed wonder replete complete in pink, was under instruction to keep an eye open to see that the closing of the factories didn’t lead to misconduct on the streets.
The factory closures had led to a deal of counter-protests. That was understandable. A lot of girls had been put out of work. They now drifted around town looking for employment, but even Barnmouth knew recession just now. Most of them were country girls of course, the legislation having obviously hit the peaceful pastoral paradises around towns harder than the towns themselves.
The gorgeous redhead turned onto Girl Market Square and wiggled past the closed ‘Lawyers Briefs’ bar.
Does anything look as mundane as a night-life-epicentre in daylight hours?
The ‘Lawyers Briefs’, an enticement to excitement in the glow of the gone-midnight street lights, now looked a tired old whore.
As she glided past, the pink caressed girl looked through the raised shutters of the closed public house and glimpsed that all the chairs had been stood on the tables while flawless barmaids were brushing cheroot cigar and cigarette stubs among broken glass off the floor. All these the signs that the now tawdry whore had been a good-time girl last night once again; and these sweet chicks were tidying up the post-dawn detritus.
The spectacularly spectral redhead now turned into Oxton Lane, a narrow alley off Girl Market Square: a Shakespearian street with Elizabethan overhangs and broad oak beam structure in its top-heavy houses and shops, and with its ancient cobbled paving maintained by the Barnmouth Town Council, such as to ensure it continued to match the picturesque portrait featuring on the town’s tourist-beckoning website.
The stunning redhead’s bare legs had to work the harder for Oxton Lane hill and its uneven cobbles, and the magical muscularity of her calves was all the more erotic for that.
Over the door of the shop she turned into, the sign read: ‘Sleigh and Daughters Est. 1864’ and the bell that donged its dangling ‘ding’ seemed as vintage as this long-established emporium within claimed to be.
Amalata Platel, the girl in the pink, followed behind into the shop, and did her ‘inconspicuous background’ performance to perfection, eyeing over from the inside of the shop, the goods that were displayed as they were, so as to be seen at their best through its bottle-bottom glazed multi-squared window from the outside.
The redhead turned her sunny face and noticed Amalata, but such a sight as Amalata was a commonplace, and the redhead instantly distracted by the owner of the place coming out of a back room.
“Hi breathtake: you here for your weekly?” This from an older woman, in a tracksuit with the words ‘Fitness Trainer’ uplifted by a magnificent chest emblazoned across her twice-thrusting breast, enquiring with a tone saying she knew the answer already.
“Yes please Sadie”, the redhead answered.
“Be with you in a mo, Autumn, I just gotta recall where I left the...Oh cripes, here it is, right where I last put it!”
“Now then, now then, Miss Autumn Fall, you can cut out the giggles”, Sadie ordered in mock seriousness, delighted by the gorgeous Autumn’s dancing chest as the redhead’s eyes sparkled with her natural loving humour at the forgetfulness she was so used to from Sadie.
In her right hand, Sadie now wielded a bar-mark reader, and Autumn helped her aside her, Autumn’s, soft fresh and fragrant golden curls to reveal an unflattering earring pierced through the lobe of Autumn’s tiny and very pretty left ear: a stainless-steel earring with a plastic tag hanging from it.
The ever-flashing red light of the reader soon found something to satisfy its constant curiosity, and ‘beeped’ with joy as it read the red tag. Sadie then took the reader to a laptop behind the counter of the shop, and plugged in its tail-end, so as to transfer the data the readers had stored, and get Autumn’s information up on the internet-linked screen.
“Yep: that’s how we left it last time”, Sadie mused. Then she picked up a fabric dressmaker’s tape-measure and came over to the stunning Autumn, who was already making a very sexy display of her lovely right leg. But it was the one on which Autumn still stood straight that Sadie took the measure around, just before where Autumn’s strong thighs became her rotundly firm buttocks, and marked off a number in her mind. Autumn then relaxed her left leg, standing tiptoed tall on her right, and Sadie measured the right thigh’s circumference. Sadie then ran the tape around Autumn at the middle of Autumn’s bottom, and went back to the laptop.
“You going to the Mayor’s Mansion House banquet this year then Sadie?” Autumn enquired, and then collapsed in peals of adorable giggles at the look on Sadie’s face: a look that said Autumn’s ploy had had the intended effect, and at least one of the numbers Sadie needed to tap into the laptop had been instantly forgotten by Sadie.
“Autumn Fall, you are a wicked girl, but it didn’t work this time little lady, so there!” Sadie responded, thumbing her nose in loving rebuke.
“Make yourself as useful as you are beautiful, and get ready for the scales will you”, Sadie then instructed, as she went through the pages on the website that she did not need to update, till she got to the next one that she did.
“Be with you in a mo”, Sadie then asided to Amalata, who smiled back that she was happy to wait.
Completely unselfconsciously, completely publicly, Autumn innocently unbuttoned her blouse to bare the two beauties she bore. Taking her blouse off her shoulders, she now wiggled forward, fascinated to see, as she approached it, her fabulous conical nipples reflected distorted in the trays of the mirror-polished copper balance that hung from one of the oak beams to the rear of the shop, behind its counter.
“Well: don’t just stand there, get onto it, and stop your giggling!”, Sadie ordered in a voice that said that she hoped Autumn’s adorable laughter would never ever end.
“I can’t reach!” Autumn teased, as her golden giggles made a high church of the lowly shop.
Sadie duly left her computer, eyed up her waiting customers, who now numbered two more in addition to Amalata Platel, to ensure their continued patience, and gently lifted Autumn’s perfect breasts onto the trays of the weighing balance scales: scales like the scales of justice, but not so blind as not to want to see such lovely breasts as these.
“Oooh its cold!” Autumn protested.
“Will you stop moving young lady!”
Autumn managed to restrain her delightful effervescence momentarily, while the short-sighted Sadie squinted at the two indicators on the mechanical scales.
One of them was an up-thrust needle-indicator above a graduated curved back plate. The needle there stood directly vertical, but would otherwise have indicated which breast, left or right, weighed more than the other. The second was indicating the stretch given to the spring on which the fulcrum of the balances was mounted, and it gave the total poundage of Autumn’s heavenly bosom.
As, to the disappointment of the now five waiting customers, Autumn did-up her blouse, she sweetly enquired: “Well: will I do?”
“You’ll do little lady”, Sadie assured. “You’re now spot-on on the tit-scales, but you still need a bit more girth on those thighs sweetheart. Up the stationary-cycling from 30 to 50 miles a day from now on. And next time we need to weigh you as a totality again.”
“Now I must get on and serve these customers as well, so you get out of here little Miss Mischief!....... And hey: look after yourself Autumn, please take care now”, Sadie dismissed as the blushing redhead stepped out to wiggle back down the cobblestones of Oxton Lane, back down to Girl Market Square once more.
.....................
Autumn somehow showed in her walking that she knew she had an admirer: did she put on an extra wiggle? She never turned to look at Amalata, but Amalata sensed that Autumn was pleased to be being ogled by her.
The morning had moved on, and the building site just off Girl Market Square was now crawling with girls carrying bricks and wood and tubular scaffolding, but not too busy it seemed, to neglect the duty of letting out a cacophony of wolf-whistles as Autumn tiptoed by.
“ ‘Ope you’re keepin’ it warm darlin’!” one strong blonde called, as she swept back her hard hat from her sweaty brow, the better to admire the view.
“Course she is!” another, a brunette, responded, “On a day like dis, it’ll be all ‘ot and sticky after she’s taken it for a walk round!”
“Better give it some exercise though, eh luv?! Wouldn’t want it to heal up now would we?” a third called, followed by guffaws.
“You got sweaty knickers den darlin’?!” the first blonde now shouted.
“She’s such a gorgeous chick, I bet dare always wet; but not wiv sweat!” the brunette countered.
“Yea: yea....’Spect they would be if she was wearin’ any!” the blonde concluded, and the laughter and wolf-whistles grew louder still, and Autumn was in full flush of blush and her tiny bright white thong-panties were indeed aromatically moist from all the crude attention she was getting.
Now Autumn daintied into ‘Fordbridge Street’.
180o from Oxton Lane, Fordbridge Street had benefited not one jot from the historic-site preservation orders that had saved Oxton Lane from the canker of modernisation. But the irony behind that, was that Fordbridge Street was an older thoroughfare than its geographically opposite number.
However, Fordbridge Street had one outlet with a history as old as its rival, and it was into Celsis Boots and Shoes ‘by appointment to Her Royal Highness Queen Mary’ that the sweet Autumn now tiptoed.
“Good morning young lady, and what may we have the honour of doing for you?”, the bowled-over manageress enquired, her eyes running the length of Autumn’s bare ghost-white legs, and thus away a long while before they looked into her soft brown eyes.
“Hello” Autumn whispered, “I’m newly marked and I need suitable footwear please”.
“Yes, of course Miss. Had you a particular girlufacturer in mind?”
“Well....I ....I thought perhaps ‘Clara’ or ‘Cornish’?” Autumn answered hesitantly, putting her trust in the older woman’s wisdom and experience via her sweet voice.
“You have commendable taste Miss, but, if I may venture to suggest, ‘Attwaters’ are generally acknowledged to be the very best?” the manageress prompted with a voice conveying kindness and that she was in no way seeking to embarrass Autumn, but also subtly confirming that the mass-products of ‘Clara’ and ‘Cornish’ had no place on the shelves of such an outlet as the one Autumn had just now entered.
“Well... then it better be ‘Attwaters’ I guess please”, Autumn smiled, with a look of relief and gratefulness for her mind having been made up for her.
“An excellent choice Miss. They, of course, only come in the finest of selected materials and are hand-crafted for an immediate fit for most young ladies’ feet”.
“Now, if you would care to take a seat Miss, one of our assistants will come over and serve you immediately.
From outside the shop, Amalata eyed the goods in the window, but did not fail to notice that Autumn took a seat where Amalata could see her.
A sly shy look up from Autumn to check if Amalata was watching her, was followed by Autumn’s heavenly blushes and suddenly lowered head, just after the eyes of the two girls had for a moment momentously met.
Autumn was necessarily sat with one shapely limb on a kick-stool while Gypsy, a pretty nut-brown negress assistant, undid Autumn’s ballet shoe and measured her left foot.
In consequence, Autumn’s skirt was failing in its duty to hide her underwear, and Autumn pleased to tease Gypsy by not seeking to hide her white thong with the visible curled strands of flame red hair nestling there.
The young assistant could not stop herself from looking at Autumn’s panties, and could hardly resist stroking her thighs.
But Autumn was also blushing, for she was being deliberately naughty in order to turn on the Asian-Indian girl in the pink outside, who was repeatedly running her eyes over Autumn’s legs.
The look of tenderness that moistened Gypsy’s eyes when she spotted the tattoo, if such it was, for it seemed to be more deeply impressed into the flesh than a tattoo would score, told of her gentle nature. But, even though she read it upside down correctly, her mind could not reach a conclusion as to what ‘P-C/F-R’ in the centre of its one-inch diameter circle with ‘021469’ immediately under it, fully stood for.
Autumn did not notice this sweet look. She was enjoying being waited upon foot and foot by the lovely black girl, who was now indeed measuring Autumn’s right foot.
“I’m certain we have the perfect fit for you madam”, Gypsy assured as she busied herself away to the stock room.
On her return, Gypsy carried a pair of pentagonal-splay ankle-booties. Autumn’s pretty feet slid into them and the padlocks that would keep them tightly fitted to her ankles were clipped closed with two irreversible-sounding slick ‘snicks’, before Gypsy pocketed the key.
“Would madam care to try walking in them?”
Autumn rose, a perfect rose in her new foot-ware, and paraded proudly on the lush carpet of the shop, though staggering a little in their unfamiliarity.
“’Attwaters’ always produce them with one side infinitesimally less deep than the other so as to enhance madam’s natural wiggle”, Gypsy informed, in the tone of a girl-to-girl confidence.
“They are just darling!” Autumn enthused, and Gypsy thought for one second that the gorgeous redhead was going to kiss her.
But, badly sadly, that heavenly pleasure did not occur, and she now waited for the customer to make payment.
Spotting why Gypsy was waiting with a patient smile, Autumn whispered a gentle reminder: “The style of the booties? You have the key to pass on through your manageress?”
“Of course madam: how silly of me. Do forgive!” Gypsy sincered.
Upset by her silly mistake and momentary forgetfulness, Gypsy almost tripped over in her golden ballet shoes in her haste to fetch the bar-mark reader from alongside the shop’s till.
Gypsy wanted to linger over the duty of recording the sale but, reluctantly, had to be duly efficient about using the reader on the bar-mark tag dangling from Autumn’s ear.
But even so, the scent of Autumn’s fresh-shampooed flame-red hair inflamed Gypsy’s nostrils, arousing the poor girl more potently than any aphrodisiac.
The bill would be charged, not to the shop, but to the central fund of course: that at least was the temporary arrangement during the switch-back period.
Outside the shop getting used to walking on tiptoe in her new booties, Autumn smiled at and then turned to walk in front of Amalata at such speed as to ensure that Amalata would soon catch her up, unless Amalata chose to stand still.
“I hope you have you been assigned especially to me constable!” Autumn teased. “A little girl like me is so comforted to have a pretty Girl-Control beat officer keeping an eye on her legs, just in case they try to run away from her!” she then giggled.
Then Autumn’s face took on a serious look. Amalata had taken out her palm-top notepad and stylus, as if she was about to book the redhead for being rude.
“I’m sorry officer....you see I thought....”, Autumn apologised, with her sweet face touchingly distressed.
“Right!”, Amalata began, in a tone suggesting that Autumn was indeed down for at least an on-the-spot spanking: “I want to know your name, your mobile’s number, and if I can take you out tonight”.
Autumn blushed exceptionally prettily. “I’m Autumn Fall, and you must have me on record since I’m marked”, she whispered.
“Sure!”, Amalata responded anxiously: anxious because she knew she was committing a disciplinary offence in trying to get a date with this wonderful girl while she, Amalata, was on duty and in Girl-Police uniform.
“And the date: meeting corner of Oxton Lane, Girl Market Square at eight tonight?” Amalata added.
“Sure!” answered Autumn, in a teasingly perfect imitation of Amalata’s own pronunciation of the word just before, and then she fell into a champagne of giggles and Amalata into love with her once more.
.........................
In the season of her name, there was something particularly magical about Autumn. The sweet girl stood in Girl Market Square, ready and waiting before the appointed time, for her date with Amalata. Her pretty smile turning into shy giggles as Amalata approached. And as Amalata approached Autumn, she was stunned into silence by the innocent’s face being suddenly surrounded by an iridescent angel’s halo from the passing caress of the setting sun’s glow from behind Autumn, on the radiant red of Autumn’s conflagrational coiled curls.
From the sublime to the real world was travelled in a microsecond though, when Amalata noticed that Autumn was standing just beyond the edge of an advertising hoarding shouting: ‘Perfect PoundageTM’, and giving the location of the nearest outlet at which that desire could be satisfied, as being ‘Sleigh and Daughters of Oxton Lane’, not two-minute’s walk from where the girls had chosen to meet: the very shop Autumn had been in that morning.
Then the sublime took over once more, when Amalata recalled Autumn’s visit to Sleigh and Daughters, and the woman fitness trainer, and the measuring and careful weighing of Autumn’s lovely body: ‘perfect poundage’ indeed!
And then Amalata arrived in heaven when she saw and admired, as the lovely Autumn longed for her to do, the way Autumn was dressed.
A crisp cool cotton shirt and microskirt, both of tennis court white, were simple and certain to demonstrate the devastating charms of the bewitching Autumn, whose muscular but very feminine legs were supremely shaped by her being in her new booties, and therefore standing on the tip tops of her big toes.
And the bubbling giggles grew louder as Amalata approached the angel, and saw for sure on her approach, but did not quite believe, that Autumn did indeed have her hands cuffed behind her back, and her ankles shackled with just a six-inch six-link chain between them.
As she got closer, the giggling Autumn did a tiny steppy chasse in a circle to show off her daring in adopting the very latest craze among the younger girls in England, and by coincidence showing off the lovely muscles of her very shapely legs: the flexing calf muscles and the flat backs of her thighs.
“Hi!” Autumn giggled, “Well what do you think?” she then laughed, and Amalata’s heart leapt.
“Autumn: you look divine! But the cuffs and ankle chains; aren’t they taking a risk here, I mean out on the streets like this....I know it’s the height of fashion right now but?....” Amalata concerned. And even as she spoke she could not take her eyes off something about Autumn, something so very beautiful that Amalata felt she should throw herself to the ground and kiss the heavenly girl’s feet.
“Oh please don’t be a spoilsport Amalata!” Autumn pouted, before she burst into giggles once more and added: “After all, this little girl has got her very own coppette to protect her”, and then she hung her head, blushing.
Autumn herself was totally unselfconscious about the glory she was, and the glory she had on display in the old gold glow of the slowly setting sun, now that it was so low as to shine solo between her heavenly thighs.
“Ooh it could get cold soon” Autumn teased unsubtly, with her eyes aglow with laughter, “I need a hot girl to take me the park, sit me on a bench and cuddle me! But I wonder where I might find one of those?” she teased.
“She can kiss me too if she wants to. But only if she really and truly wants to....” she added, with her head tipped coquettishly to one side, and her eyes shyly cast down, before suddenly raised into a demanding direct laser stare at and through Amalata’s own brown beauties.
“Okay then I’ll go home!” Autumn then pretended, and began the tiny wiggle steps that her self-applied bondage limited her to.
Amalata immediately caught Autumn by her left elbow and the angel swung around with her lips simmeringly shimmeringly wet waiting willing and wanting.
“Well, it looks like we’re heading for the park then young lady!” Amalata laughed, in love at, and with, the beguiling Autumn.
“Oh no I don’t want to go there!” Autumn suddenly retorted in a feminine one-eighty mind change, which turned into more giggles.
“I’ve heard that girls get kissed there. And I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be kissed!” and she tried to keep a serious face, and succeeded for a millisecond till her eyes laughed and she fell into bubbling giggles once again.
“You just don’t know how very much I want to kiss you Autumn!” Amalata whispered emotionally.
“Well then. Take me to the park, because I’ve changed my mind again, and I might let you kiss me: only ‘might’ mind you!” Autumn smiled.
“We’d get there quicker without the cuffs”, Amalata gently challenged.
“I’m in no hurry!” Autumn teased once more, but then she nodded to a pocket where Amalata would find a key, and the precise clicks of two ankle worn padlocks and two cuffs of handcuffs, told of Autumn’s release. And the key and cuffs were slid into the handbag-purse Amalata now tucked under her arm, as the two lovely girls held hands, and wiggled along longing to kiss each other to paradise.
As they tiptoe-trod their way to earthly heaven, Autumn enquired: “Oh: only I’m such a dizzy dit I discovered last min that I had no clean panties to put on.... so I hope you don’t mind the pubes ....”
Amalata glanced at the golden red curls that dangled down between Autumn’s legs, the luminous red impossibility of profuse curls that poured their passionate glory all the way down to Autumn’s ankles, and danced as she walked to tease, and shimmered in the sun to please, and fluttered in the cool kiss of the evening breeze, and took up Autumn’s hand to kiss its palm to show that she minded not one scintilla about the wild glory of Autumn’s dangling dazzling pubic hair.
And Autumn took the sweet kiss, but grew momentarily serious, submitting both her hands to be held by Amalata and looking her love into her love’s eyes:
“After the park....”, she began, then paused, took a deep breath, exhaled, looked up once more, and repeated: “After the park....Well, you know....I’m marked and all that....so....so I can’t let you.... you know....you can’t go all the way in....”
“I know sweetheart: I know that”, Amalata reassured, as Autumn’s lovely face took on a seriousness that Amalata had not seen before, but which just showed the concern Autumn had for her immaculate state.
And then Autumn’s eyes began to giggle once more, and as the girls walked hand-in-hand toward the promise of passion’s land, Autumn bubbled aloud:
“But after the park, I do need to shampoo my hair, and gave Amalata a mischievous sideways look, that caused the walk to stop again, and Amalata to swing Autumn round, and ask with her eyes for the angel to confirm the paradise she seemed to be offering.
“Nothing!” Autumn giggled, in answer to the enquiring look in Amalata’s eyes.
Then Autumn relented, and whispered: “Just a shampoo and a blow dry and a brushing and combing will do”, she whisper wheedled winsomely, as her eyes took Amalata’s own eyes down to where the redhead’s other curls coiled to her shapely ankles: to Autumn’s golden red pubic hair: her near three-foot-long tormenting tail of torrential titian pubic hair, fluttering and dancing in the soft warm evening breeze between her lovely legs.
...................
Bliss is a girl and girl kiss. Bliss’ blessing is a girl and girl kissing in ceaseless session. Never had Amalata known a girl as passionate as sweet Autumn. Amalata’s hand caressed a bare thigh and by and bye the cruelty of the circle impressed on Autumn’s left buttock and the impression enquiring fingers read as brail, the initials and the number that told and tolled a tale. And then a bare breast with a nipple put to the test and not found wanting in instantly responding to pulse and peak and be replete in apposite opposite of the embossment on Autumn’s sweet tail.
That evening flew, and new and often grew the meetings between the heaven and Shangri-La that were these two angels by far. And the kiss in greeting was now perfunctory, but all the more conveying of passion for being less passionate and more cool, as if the meniscus atop the voraciousness volcano’s fiery pool.
Autumn’s family background and her election for selection and marking was told of, and the gold this goal told would be won from for her poor family explained, and why she was so cool about being the mate of her chosen fate; for this girl had had such on her plate by way of poverty’s pain as to have made her the delicious dish she was now became.
A shopping spree in the rain with Autumn’s all, in transparent plastic raincoat with nothing under at all, for the world to see this stunning wonder as her golden hair was darkened to the colour of the fire of desire’s torment, but her magical pubic plume still a furious red adornment.
Giggles and kisses as they ran for the ponygirl-hauled omnibus amid a welter of wolf-whistles for the mackintoshed wonder stark naked under, as the two sexy lovelies wiggled to find shelter from Pluvius' pattering pelter. And the sadness momentary as the following Amalata noticed the curiously splayed display Autumn’s booties made in the wake of her springing gait, on the wet of the sidewalk shining with the rain’s soft satiation of dusty paving’s need of slake for cleanliness’ sake.
And on evenings alone in their own private zone, would Amalata bathe the beauty with care of Autumn’s autumnal tumble of golden hair, both head to bottom as she stood tall, and her wonderful pubic tail too withal, and with the sweet unguents their loving shopping trips sought and bought, to caress and make best Autumn’s glorious crest, and plunging nether plumage no less.
And the brushing and the kisses and the blushing and the kisses and the combing and the kisses and the roaming of fingers to where bliss is, and the static crackle from the brushes brisk brusque whisk amid the curls golden midst and the kisses and the comb and the kisses and the fingers’ roam and the brushing of the long tail that dawdled in erotic mingle and the kisses increased from singularly single, and the mouth with the smiling pink and the tongue seeking the shy clitoris and the cry of crisis from the innocent mouth as the joy of orgasm swept love through love’s heavenly body earthly and earthy in earthquake and tsunami’s wake as Autumn screamed without cease of measure of pleasure in being love loved for love’s sake and living through love’s ripple of ripping joy as through her body tore orgasm’s wake but not orgasm’s slake for she was orgasm for orgasm’s sake and this but aperitif to her constant state as kiss after kiss poured Amalata on the grace of Autumn’s joyously tear-kissed face and return after return would Autumn make to the highest state, and each return to a high-C scream as her body fulfilled its role as dream until at last Amalata’s tongue would lick the ring that was guardian as ever over the source and centre of Autumn’s orgasmic pleasure, and Autumn would yield for Amalata to rip her shield and take her ring of heaven’s betrothal in trust that her lover would respect her, and the increase in the power of her final orgasm with which Autumn’s clitoris would impart impact till her body seized in rapturous rapture and her thighs around Amalata’s face would wrap in crushing capture till Amalata was smothered in Autumn’s wet musk as her own crisis came and both girls in love’s wrestle tumbled in tumult till they must sigh in sweet satiation and Autumn’s golden hair would become a soft whisperingly scented sentient sensation: the pillow of love and love’s sleeping lair.
.........................
Was this love too powerful to last? Was it love or lust? Did the long hours and shift work that is the lot of a Girl-Control coppette make for the cooling of the mutual mating?
Time was when the sight of Autumn in her saucy Herrod’s waitress’ uniform would have been unalloyed joy to girl or boy, and to one girl in particular: Amalata.
The argument that had followed about Autumn’s “trivial” choice of employ had really been about something else: the coming time and the unstoppable tide of what Amalata knew inside. The inevitability that she must take some cause to break with this honey now, and be hurt for a while, as the relationship could have no future bar that Autumn had already had mapped out for her.
The tears at parting so nearly rekindled the flickering flame, as Autumn insisted again, that Amalata could take it if it was a barrier to the continuance of their love.
But both girls knew in truth that there was no choice and no treasure trove to be had from ‘with my body I thee betroth’ as compared with that promised Autumn on the path she trod as she had chose.
The beauties drifted and time meant that Autumn and Amalata cried themselves to sleep in their separate homes less as it byed.
Autumn had never realised her volunteering could cause her heart such searing pain. But her determination was renewed anew when she learned she was listed to be enlisted, and the where and the when, if not the precise what, was spelt out in the orders given her on her final visit to Sleigh and Daughters’ shop.
.........................
A month later at the annual gathering of the great and good of Barnmouth to celebrate in feasting the end of the financial year and corn harvest’s completion, Barnmouth Town Hall would be replete with the Mayor’s final major speech before next year’s elections would hope to choose another like her: another perfect peach.
“I’m sorry constable, but could I trouble you to ladle me some of that girl-pee-punch from the bowl over there: the aroma is so compelling, don’t you think?” one of the guests insisted, waving an empty glass at Amalata, as if the uniform Amalata wore, was that of a butleress, rather than a Girl-Police constable.
Amalata hated ‘toffs’ like this young woman. She must be a toff to be at this gathering. She seemed obviously born to the certainty of a high place in society. Okay she would probably never be a big shark in the national pool, but her mummy was most likely wealthy, and both she and her mother before her would have all but inherited places at St Innocents Academy for Girls here in Barnmouth. Wealth and the best education money could buy, were balloons that boosted a young woman to the top in anything they might condescend to turn to.
“With the deepest respect ma’am, I’m a Girl-Control coppette here on guard duty?”, Amalata answered politely, recalling that this young woman was one of those whose taxes paid the wages of the Girl-Police, and that there was therefore a risk that her mummy would turn out to be something influential.
If that did turn out to be so, if Amalata said the wrong thing, she could be dismissed from the police force on the spot.
Despite the obvious fact that Constable Amalata Platel and the insistent girl were some distance apart in class and background, the girl was clearly trying to get Amalata talking. Amalata had not been looking for the conversation. Her sergeantess had told her she could ‘take five’, but had to be sure to be ready for seven when the main flow of guests would start to arrive.
The persistent girl seemed to feel reassured by Amalata’s uniformed presence. A good judge of character, Amalata quickly assessed the girl as: ‘all talk and no steady girlfriend’, but she did have rather shapely legs. Contact lenses would show how pretty her face was. Too much book-worming had weakened her eyes, and the thick lenses of her eye-glasses did not flatter her at all.
“Phiona Smyth-Smythe”, the young woman suddenly announced, holding out a hand for Amalata to touch the tips of its fingers, as was the greeting between strangers, when the strangers were from the ruling and lower classes respectively.
Amalata dropped the obligatory curtsey, as she touched her soft finger-tips on those of her superior.
“One’s mummy is Aigneth Smyth-Smythe, the Mayor of Barnmouth don’t you know”, Phiona expanded, both to impress and to try and get Amalata’s interest.
Amalata had, of course, recognised the surname in the first instance. Consequently, she did indeed ‘know’, and, as a result, her beautiful legs had flexed in a particularly deep curtsy.
..........................
Amalata hated these occasions. But she had run out of luck this year. Her best friend at the station house had been genuinely shocked when she overheard the under-breath expletive Amalata had used when she had spotted her duty roster for the week.
“Hey now Amma! That’s not like you, angel!” Michelena had soothed.
“Sorry Mitchy, but just look at that! A whole evening wasted on stuck-up hoity-toity toffs and their wives and girlfriends”, Amalata had responded.
“But that’s a top-level affair Amma, and believe me you look incredible in your number ones. Expect it’s a ‘full medals do’ too, and you have every good reason to be proud angel. It’s usually a ‘medals do’ at that kind of level....” Michelina speculated as she searched her palm-top for the detail of the ‘Dress Code’ in the ‘Orders for the Day’ for that particular event.
..........................
In the present, at six-forty in the evening, Amalata was becoming alarmingly aware that Phiona was trying to date her, and was having to be as polite as she could whilst working hard to put Phiona off.
The uniform did that. The uniform was a babe magnet. There was just something about a coppette in uniform that turned the other girls on. Pink was also undoubtedly an ideal colour to show off the perfect brown of Amalata’s wonderful complexion.
For special occasions like this, the Mayor’s annual banquet, the Girl-police wore their number-one-dress uniform, thus Amalata was clothed ceremonially, rather than having on the more practical uniform she wore day-to-day. Standing orders for the evening, had indeed also commanded that medals be worn: number-one-dress went with medals; if the coppette had medals to wear of course.
Amalata’s tremendous endless brunette hair had been wound into a crown that adorned her head: thus meeting the regulation that all coppette’s wear their hair up above their necks when in uniform.
The pink blouse she wore, had its long sleeves buttoned at her wrists, and its collar buttoned at her neck, and its front two-fold emboldened by Amalata’s natural awards: her small but perfectly formed pert breasts.
And that and that alone was the uniform. The shirt had to perform the duties of blouse and skirt as it were. And, as it was, it barely covered Amalata’s sexy bottom.
Okay, she was upright alright, on her tiptoes in pink heelless ballet shoes, and since she was on ‘protection’ duty, there was a silver pistol in the holster attached to the elasticised pink garter around her beautiful right thigh, and true too there was a pink tie denoting her cleavage bye and bye, and on the wings of her collar was Amalata’s number – ‘6699’ - in the Barnmouth constabulary, but in the shirt cum dress, she was as undressed as dressed and so, so inspiring of another form of ‘cum’.
To Amalata’s relief, a pretty schoolgirl in a saucy French-maid’s outfit, one of the many waitresses on duty at this privileged event, recognised the message intended by Phiona still absent-mindedly waiving her empty glass, and dutifully poured punch into it, before flashing her virginal-white frilly panties as she curtsied.
Phiona’s eyes followed the blushing chick, but she soon turned her attention back to Amalata.
“Pretty little tart that!” Phiona observed. “Mummy put one in trust to organise the maidery for this year’s city hall banquet. But one had no problem with that little challenge, don’t you know. One just gave good old Herrod’s department store a tinkle, and ordered two-doz of their sexiest, and that was that really.”
At the mention of this, Amalata suddenly found interest in the conversation Phiona was insisting upon, that she had never felt till now. If the maids had been supplied by Herrods, and if she was still in their employ, Autumn could surely be somewhere around.
The thought of seeing Autumn again suddenly set Amalata’s heart pounding and she instantly found herself gasping, her pretty nostrils flaring as she took deeper breaths to control a feeling that she was about to faint.
But she took care not to show it, even if that care was not necessary, since Phiona did not seem to notice it.
Phiona would just not go away though. She was insistent on engaging with Amalata and Amalata thus no choice but to stay, for politeness and career safety’s sake, at least till duty and duty’s due time would excuse her.
“I say: I’ve just spotted that... that’s the Croix de Femme isn’t it?!” Phiona cried out when she spotted Amalata’s medal.
“Yes ma’am” Amalata answered with pride, even as her eyes scanned for some confirmation that her love, Autumn, was there somewhere among the maids and waitresses scurrying and hurrying about.
Amalata was right to be proud. The Croix de Femme was only awarded for the highest bravery, and there was indeed a pure gold Croix de Femme medal dangling on the smooth soft flesh of Amalata’s left leg, hanging on its mauve ribbon from the mauve garter around Amalata’s strong left thigh.
“Gosh! However did you win that?! You must have arrested some bank robbers or something!” Phiona enthused, with her attraction to Amalata all the more increased by this symbol of the highest courage worn by the Asian-Indian angel.
“Oh do tell! Please do tell!!”
“There’s nothing to tell really ma’am.....” Amalata began, as she blushed sweetly.
“I just don’t believe you constable. They don’t award Croix de Femmes without exceptional reason.” Phiona insisted.
“It was a rape case ma’am. A gang rape in Cunni Park?” Amalata began, as she reluctantly retold the story about a day three years ago now: “Thirty or forty unemployed farm girls had been ganging around town all day, downing bottles of girlpee like it was going out of style? When I happened on them during routine tiptoe patrol, they had gotten hold of a pretty little school-chick and were taking turns with her?”
“It was nothing brave I did. I was too late anyway. They had stripped her, but I saw the ankle hobble and the short chain between her thighs just above her knees to keep her legs together, and I instantly knew ‘St Innocents Academy’. When I looked up, her school-uniform burkha was over a tree branch, and I could see that her school-issue knickers had been cut off her and stuffed in her mouth to stop her squeals.....”
“How do you mean, you were too late?” Phiona insisted.
“Well ma’am, I knew in the instant she was St Innocents, and before that I’d heard this terrible scream of pain just when I came into the park, which must have been why they gagged her? And I saw her cunny was bleeding, so I knew she had lost her ring, I mean she was a woman now with her hymen ripped. She’d be expelled of course, from the academy, after that, even though it was not her fault....”
“And how did you save her: how did you get the highest medal in the land?!” Phiona gasped with excited awe.
“I offered a swap ma’am. I told them that if they let the schoolgirl go, they could have me. And they agreed, and they stripped me, whipped me with my Girl-Control Coppette’s cane, and then took turns to have me...”
“You’re Amalata Platel!” Phiona exclaimed, recalling the press headlines about this noble sacrifice.
“Oh my god, you’re Amalata Platel! Every girl I know wants to date Amalata Platel!! And I’m going to sleep with Amalata Platel!!” Phiona sibilantly sizzled in a stage whisper shout of gawping gasps.
“Date ma’am? I’m so sorry ma’am. I already have a girlfriend ma’am. Least I love her even if she’s shy of committing herself and even if we’ve drifted apart a whiles. Besides, I’m in uniform, and I’m not allowed to talk about dating when I’m in uniform.”
“And she’s probably here tonight ma’am, one of your maids from Herrods, somewhere around...” Amalata pleaded, knowing this influential young woman could insist on a date, indeed insist on Amalata going to bed with her, if she wanted to.
“Huh. One of the Herrods’ whores! I’d have imagined you had better taste than that! Which one, what’s her name? Tell me her name constable, or I’ll find out anyway, and make damned sure you’re both fired! Do you understand?!” Phiona, the epitome of the spoilt brat, hissed angrily through her gritted teeth.
“Autumn Fall ma’am, her name is Autumn Fall. And please, I beg you ma’am, please do her no harm!” Amalata pleaded.
That name rang a decided bell in Phiona’s mind, so she now busied herself on the palm-top she had taken from her purse. But she had duly noted Amalata’s plea, and the opportunity it afforded for bribery.
She found the list of names of the maids Herrod’s had supplied, but not an ‘Autumn Fall’ among them. She was therefore about to accuse Amalata of lying, but her thumb accidentally touched the palm top’s screen again, and the display flicked a page, and the bottom-of-list name: ‘Autumn Fall’ came up.
“Well that won’t be a problem will it constable?” Phiona gloried, enjoying her moment, the moment of victory.
Amalata’s querulous look told Phiona its tale, and so she added: “She’ll be in the kitchen right now.”
At this terrible and wonderful news, Amalata forgot her duties, forgot that she was a Girl-Police coppette on bodyguard patrol, forgot that if she disobeyed orders, she would be ceremonially stripped of the uniform her beautiful body graced, tied up naked, whipped severely, and have the Croix de Femme she had so bravely won and so proudly wore, ritually ripped away: but all this was nothing compared with her love for Autumn Fall.
Phiona knew. Phiona knew when she saw the look of the profoundest love in Amalata’s eyes, that Amalata was lost to her. She could blackmail Amalata into her bed, but Amalata’s love was a closed book, and Phiona’s life destined to continue to consist solely of the frustration of frigidity. And this insanely overindulged daughter of privilege wanted to destroy what she now knew she could not have in the way she wanted.
As Amalata wiggled to the kitchen to find the outstandingly lovely Autumn, and as the gathering guests turned stunned momentarily silent with shock, astounded at the shrill shriek Phiona’s sudden cruel bitterness reduced her to, as the spinster maid bawled after Amalata:
“There’s no need to run you fucking bitch! Autumn Fall’ll be going fucking nowhere in a hurry!
Hearing, as she could not help but, the foul shout from Phiona’s mouth, the Mayor, her mother, rushed over to Phiona now, and, such was the shallowness of the spoilt child that Aigneth Smyth-Smythe had made of her daughter, that Phiona pushed her away so that the Mayor fell on the floor, before Phiona herself let out a wail of keening sobs for being robbed of her demands, and then danced a tarantella tantrum stamping her toes, tiptoe-stood as she was in her ballet shoes, gritting her teeth in a fit of uncontrollable fury.
.................
In the catacomb complex of corridors that were the arteries of the palatial Barnmouth Town Hall, there must be kitchens somewhere. Amalata tried to recall the floor plans spread out at the Girl-Police’s briefing. But she just could not recall the one, two to the right of the one she was ordered to study and memorise. She’d had no need to know which floor the kitchens were on; it was not part of her patrol. Now she was desperate to locate them and shouted at all who passed her: “The kitchens?! Where are the kitchens?!”
Amalata was inspired by love.
And so was Mademoiselle Centime Blanche by whom Autumn Gold was being put to good use in the city hall kitchens, where the feat of preparing a feast for forty was the fate of the busy crew under Centime: this feted, surprisingly young but very accomplished chef.
Chaos can be equated with catastrophe. But under Mademoiselle Blanche’s direction, the chaos apparent in the steam and heat and the bad tempered shouting, and the flames, and the bubbling-over saucepans, and the smells, and the perspiration and the panic of the busy kitchen, a detached person could have recognised that there was structured order. But, even if there was a need for it, there was little time for detachment.
Mademoiselle Blanche though, was in a brief peaceful lacuna. With her pretty hands, she was smearing her own secret blend of an aromatic butter and herbs concoction onto the meat course, while examining the fish course, and ordering the timing of the first course, and ensuring the vegetarians, of whom she was one, would not be disappointed.
This magician of the multi-task, checked that all was well with her immediate concern, pulled the close-clinging ‘string bag’ that would hold the tightly bound meat complete, over the meat, and tied the bag’s neck tight closed.
She then swung the turntable, hinged from the left, into the oven, and elbowed closed its glass-fronted door, hinged from the right. Next grasping a readied cloth, she wiped the remains of the butter and herb concoction off her hands, and looked around, both at progress and for the lovely redhead that Herrods had included among the maidery supplied for the kitchen.
The charming redhead was clearly more intelligent than the other maids, and was about to get temporarily promoted to a position of trust.
Mademoiselle Centime Blanche’s beckoning finger caught her eye, and she wiggled over willingly and enthusiastically to see what was wanted.
“Keep an eye on the meat for me will you?” Mademoiselle Blanche both asked and ordered sweetly.
The freckle-kissed angel smiled, and Mademoiselle Blanche blushed. This girl was exceptionally attractive. The autumnal gold of her glorious hair was devastatingly beautiful. Her brown eyes sparkled with her joy: the joy of being the utmost-wonderful of all god’s creations: a girl.
But this was no time for distraction, Mademoiselle Blanche recalled the weight of the joint in the oven, turned a timing dial with decisive precision, and then pressed a button, and the turntable within the oven began to rotate slowly.
As she kept dutiful guard as instructed, in the microseconds it took for the intelligent redhead to see it, she read on the rump of the rotating meat, the legend ‘P-C/F-R’ and recalled, as if she didn’t know already, that she was admiring a ‘Pretty-Chick’: a Free-Range ‘Pretty-Chick’, a girl selected and bred for her meat, and allowed to live free-range in society, as was the way Pretty-Chick’s were now farmed, since the production lines of the forced-factory farms had been abolished by a controversial act of the House of Ladies in the Hondon parliament.
Kneeling on the turntable within the string sack that would hold her meat together when she was thoroughly cooked through, she, the Pretty-Chick, had been shaven bald: both head and minge, bar an upright Mohegan head crest of her hair.
Mademoiselle Blanche’s last instruction until she could return to this corner of the kitchen, was for the stunning redhead to: “Watch out for a squirt of blood from the cunt. When the cunt is cooked the hymen is tensioned till it snaps. She’ll be cooked to perfection when that happens.”
The redhead nodded her understanding, and poured all her sweet attention into and onto doing the very best job she could, proud to have won this honour and trust from the world-famous Mademoiselle Blanche.
The titian temptress knew all about free-range ‘Pretty-Chicks’, she was one herself. She was another Perfect PoundageTM Pretty-Chick, being farmed in the community by Sleigh and Daughters of Oxton Lane here in Barnmouth, suppliers to the world famous Herrods, or more precisely to that department store’s food halls.
Only, as she had screamed her bitten bleeding tongue from her head in piteous pleading, she had been labelled ‘P-C/F-R’ and ‘021468’ by the sizzling burn of the branding irons on her beautiful bottom. But the girl being cooked alive in the oven, the Perfect PoundageTM Pretty-Chick promising full natural flavour from her being raised fully free-range and not factory forced; the girl whose screeches of beyond absolute agony were gagged by the huge apple forced into her mouth, the apple baking with her in the oven; the girl being cooked alive to ensure she was full-flavoured as well as natural flavoured from being farmed free-range, the herb buttered girl in the microwave oven, was ‘021469’, Autumn Fall, Summer Fall’s kid sister.
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