Disconnections

Disconnections
a series of stories by Eve Adorer

Biankiss Roseborn
Synopsis: - Barnmouth on the south coast of England at some future time when.....

Biankiss Roseborn
by Eve Adorer

Biankiss, 5 foot 4 inches of adorable twenty-two-year-old mischief, was used to attracting. She was extremely distracting. The eyes, the dark brunette hair and the ‘tanned’ complexion were from her inheritance. She was a so-miscalled ‘half-cast’ from the melting-pot of the nations that had seen England joyed to be joined, by the midpoint in the 21st century, by a mix of the many, including such exotic creatures as Biankiss; who comprised one-fifth each of Chinese, Italian, Nubian, and French and Finnish to furnish finesse to her finish.

Her petit stature was oriental, her eyes’ iced-diamond-blue occidental not accidental. Her naturally light-white-coffee hued silk-soft flesh and pout posed lips were from a mix and match with North Africa’s passionate far fires; her twin burden of bold bosom a gift of generic Italianate generosity to her generation. Her lovely legs echoed French influence from her momma’s momma. And her constant smile spoke of the love she conveyed from the very heart of her artless heart.

Biankiss, 5’ 4’ of adorable twenty-two-year-old mischief, was used to attracting; and so it was now, as she stepped out from her apartment, to turn the heads of a group of labouring girls mending the paving of the sidewalk, who spotted her walking past, just down from her home.....

‘Fuckin’ ‘ell’s bleedin’ bells; ain’t you der little darlin’ doll?!!’

‘Give us a kiss sweet’art!! .......Oh alright den. But if you isn’t kissin’ der girls today, dat’s a shame innit? ‘Spect somerem won’t know wot day’s missin’. So, tell yer wot; if yer gives me a kiss, I promise I’ll tellemall wot it were like!!’

And as the blushing Biankiss continued to cause all work to stop while she walked on, not yet out of view; or hearing....

‘Fuckin’ ‘ell! Did yer see der fuckin’ tits on dat?!!’

‘If yer asks me she want wearin’ no bra. She kuntabin, not der way day was prancin’ abart in dare! I reckons as ‘ow dare was more in dat shirt of ‘ers, dan even you could ‘andle Jo’?!

‘How’d yer like to get yer ‘ands in ‘er panties eh?!!

‘Not me; I wanna be ‘er knicks! At least I does as long as me nose is on der insides!’

‘Just look at der fuckin’ bum on it!! Jeese, is dat a wiggle or is dat a fuckin’ wiggle?!!

Then came the shout from one of the admiring rough but genuine-hearted work-gang girls:

‘When you’re dun tekin’ it for a walk darlin’, be sure and drop yer sweaty knicks off wiv us, woan’yer!!!!’

Followed by a shared sotto voce thought to get a giggle from her mates: ‘Dat is if’n you is wearin’ any o’ cause!’
........................

As she entered her regular bar at the Dolly Damsel public house in Barnmouth’s Girl Market Square, a little late for the daily lunchtime gathering, Biankiss raised a hand and swiftly flexed its fingers and then its thumb in turn, as a pretty wave, before joining three friends that awaited her; the three being assembled at the usual table.

As she approached the brunette Sandra, Sandra rose and held the back of Biankiss’ chair for her, sliding it under the angel as she lowered herself to sit.

Biankiss blushed and lowered her head. In parallel, she felt a distinctive tingle in her panties. She fought not to blush. But it was integral to her beauty that she would so do, just as was the shy smile, with the lovely ice-blue-eyes diverted from a direct look at Sandra, and the whispered ‘thank you’ for the courtesy.

‘I do love your hair Kissy!’ Sandra confided openly. She’d known Biankiss had had a hairdressing appointment, but hadn’t seen her since the Monday before, and this was Friday.

‘Oh, thank you’ Biankiss responded in a whisper, as she looked down not just with sweet shyness but also, subliminally, to be sure her micro-skirt was exposing sufficient reward of stockinged thigh.

‘That boyish cut....It suits you perfectly.’

Biankiss blushed again. All the gathered girls found making Biankiss blush irresistible.

Biankiss’ look at Sandra was particularly sweet. She found the brunette devastatingly attractive, and longed to be asked by her, if she was date. But Sandra was, as ever, soon sat back down, lovingly holding hands with Pamela: the pretty blonde with her curl-crinkled corn-gold hair: the girl who, just last week, had been showing the quintet, of which this was but a quartet, the engagement ring Sandra had given her two prior weekends back, in Paris.

‘Hi’ Pamela smiled. She knew, of course she knew, how Biankiss felt about Sandra – about Pamela’s girlfriend: Pamela’s husband-girl to be. She was pleased and proud that it was so. Her smile was loving and sincere. She had no wish to be unkind, let alone cruel to a girl as delightful as Biankiss.

Dora now touched Biankiss’ hand across the table. This pretty negress had the hots for Biankiss, and found all the opportunities she could to touch her, so as to convey her longing and her love.

The fifth corner of the quintet, the redheaded Marina, was busy behind the bar for the present. It had been she to whom Biankiss had waved on entering the Dolly Damsel.

‘Still no win on the job front then Kissy?’ Pamela sympathised, knowing Biankiss had been looking since the quartet had graduated college, now nearly a year back.

‘Not even an echo of an echo! Not a single solitary response out of one hundred and more applications this last month. It’s costing me a fortune printing CVs..... ‘The Grisly Gorgon’, my landlady, is after the rent too. Every time I leave my apartment she’s standing just outside her door where I have to pass her. I’ll be on the streets if I don’t get a job soon. I’m maxed-out on plastic as well. So I can’t borrow any more anymore. I’m seriously thinking about Marina’s proppo’.’

‘Barmaiding won’t make you enough to pay the bills Kissy. You just ask Marina. She only does it to pay for her cigarettes and her nights out with us.’

‘It’s not the barmaiding I was meaning.’

‘You can’t be serious!’ Sandra interjected. ‘Marina was just joking. You can’t do that. How much do you owe? We can pass the hat around. I’ll chip in to help you out. There’s always a couch for you at me and Pam’s place, you must know that...’

The quartet looked up as Marina approached.

‘Hi Marina.... You free to join us?’

‘Not right now Kissy. But I’ve squared it with the boss, Chamita. She says you can do tonight. I’ve found an outfit for you, including shoes. It’s straight pay for topless, and double-quadruple for you if you’ll go both. Both will mean you wearing a toggle-thong.... And I’ve found one of those for you too.’

Sandra now warned, lovingly: ‘Oh jeese Kissy! You can’t be doing that! You know what the girls get like in here, after they’ve downed a few glasses of girl-pee! It’s just not you; not Nudie-Night for cripes sake!’

‘Sandra has a point Kissy. You know that don’t you sweetness. It’ll be a bit rough-and-ready here tonight, especially. For one thing, it’s pay day for those girls mending the paving down your way. And they’re always in here pay-nights, goosing the barmaids. And there’s a hen-night for a girl who’s marrying her former school teacher next week. And they’ll be getting soused good and proper before they fly out to chase the girls around the streets of Prague..... But, look, I gotta get back to the bar, or I’ll get fired....What shall I tell the boss....tell Chamita?’

‘Please tell her I’ll go with it...’

‘Yes, but go with which and what Kissy?’

‘Top and bottom both’, Biankiss whispered.

‘Sorry Kissy, I didn’t quite catch that.’

Biankiss swallowed, before confirming a little louder, ‘Top and bottom both’, and then lowered her head in the sweetest of deepest blushes.

‘Okay Kissy’, Marina confirmed, ‘‘Top and bottom both’ it will be, if you say so loveliness.... See you at six-thirty here, for seven. Okay gorgeous?’

‘Okay’, Biankiss answered, with a tone that did not convey the strength of conviction she had meant it to do.

She then quietly enquired of her dearest friends: ‘Can you be here for me please?’

The three that Biankiss made four, briefly looked concernedly at one another, before answering, in just short of unison: ‘Of course’, mixed with a ‘Yes’ that heard the other responses in mid-say, and changed instant course to another ‘Of course....’, ending its answer a microsecond beyond full unity; but in one and the same cause.
........................

‘‘Ere, Jo! Be’ind der bar dare. Ain’t dat der gorgeous chick wot we saw dis mornin’ on der ‘igh Road?!’
........................

Biankiss had been on time. Marina had never seen her lovely friend looking quite so nervous.

‘Are you certain sure you wanna go through with this Kissy? It’s gotta be a pretty tough one for a shy girl like you...I mean the way you’re made...’

The two girls were in a back room of the Dolly Damsel.

‘Honestly. They’ll treat you like meat. It’s bloody demeaning’

‘I need the money Marina’

‘I’ve not seen you in ballets before. Are you sure you can do permanent top tip of tiptoe?’

‘Just watch me’, Biankiss responded sweetly nervously. She had already rolled the virgin-white stockings up her lovely legs, and clasped them to the virgin-white suspenders at the side of each of her beautifully bold thighs. And the pure white shone its erotic contrast with her latte-coffee complexion.

Marina ruminated as Biankiss blushed: ‘Isn’t it funny how a girl always seems more naked, dressed in the way you’ll be, than if she really hadn’t got a stitch on?’

Biankiss worked the superfluous garters to just above her knees.’

‘You must wear them just above mid-thigh. And remember if they’re pleased with you, they’ll slip their dollar notes in them. All the dollars you earn that way are yours to keep. But you gotta say ‘Thank you very much miss’, individually, to all the girls who put dollars in your garters, and give them all a smile a curtsey and a blown kiss too, the last two when you walk away from their table, when they’ll no doubt be following your wicked bum with their eyes!’

‘It’s all ‘hands off’ or else they get thrown out. But some of them will pinch your bottom for sure, if they get even half of half a chance!’

As Biankiss fixed the buckle on the virgin-white inch-wide choker-ribbon she would wear around her slim neck, she subliminalled with her ice-blue eyes Marina putting the ballets she, Biankiss, would put on next, on a stool readied.

Now, as Biankiss sat on the stool with her ballets momentarily on the floor, she slipped their soft virgin-white calf-skin leather over her dainty feet by turn, and tied their long virgin-white laces tightly, wrapping their extensive ends around the soles of each shoe and finally around her slender ankles.

‘Wowee!’ Marina all-but wolf-whistled, as Biankiss stood thereafter; ‘Have you got legs or have you got legs!’ she whispered for Biankiss to hear, as Biankiss did a tiptop-of tiptoe slow twirl on the steel-tipped squared-off toes of the ballets, and showed she could dance deftly in them.

Nextly, along her long slim arms Biankiss drew the virgin-white cotton-mix gloves that caressed her and dressed her up to just below her armpits.

Then she picked up the virgin-white bell-hop-style pill-box hat, with its little virgin-white puff-ball centre-top decorative ‘bobble’, and arranged its elasticated virgin-white strap under her chin, before arranging the hat to her left side and slightly to the front of her head, to make it look even more impractical, and consequently subsequently even more saucily sexy.

‘Kissy; you look absolutely bloody gorgeous!’ Marina reassured, as Biankiss blushed scarlet.

‘Shall I put your barbells on?’

‘Please Marina. And would you very much mind helping me with....with what needs doing before you fit my toggle?’

‘Of course sweetheart; but surely you’d want to do that for yourself’

‘I really do need someone else to do it please....Please Marina...’

As Marina fitted the barbells she deliberately pressed her thigh into the groin of the gorgeous Biankiss. Biankiss knew what Marina was doing this for, and tried to relax and enjoy it.

The barbell nipple-clips, hollow tubes with hollow bulbous ends; tubes and bulbs of two-inch duration, one-inch either side from the nipple to which each was clamped, were quarter-filled with mercury. Each was clipped so it hung horizontally just below one of Biankiss’ very pert teats. And she winced as any would, since the clips deployed employed a needle tooth in each jaw, and bit her nipples sharply right through when their maws closed on her sensitive pert pink peaks.

Now, as lovely Biankiss merely breathed, the mercury within each barbell hesitated where to flow; where to go. Each hollow ball end could contain all the heavy slippery silvery mercury within its cavity. But the mercury must answer gravity. And so, as the gorgeous Biankiss moved, and her lovely titties matched her emotion-inspiring motion, the mercury followed in flood back and forth, in the hollow tube between the barbells, in a complete tizzy about which end it wished to wind up in. And thus the barbells twisted and teased Biankiss’ generous nipples in a way that her blushes already showed made her pleasurably pleased.

‘I’ll have to use my hand’ Marina apologised.

‘Mmm sorry?’ Biankiss whispered before adding, ‘Oh, that’s alright’.

Miranda began to press and then to rub. At the pressing, pretty Biankiss giggled, ‘You’re tickling!’, but the start of the sought outcome, tentative but not temporary, evidenced itself.

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do this for yourself?’ Marina asked.

‘No. I’m sorry Marina. It’s so much nicer when someone else does it. I’ve always wanted you to do it for me...’

At this, the result required suddenly showed itself decidedly definitely. Marina worked away gently so as not to have the spell lost through excess of brio.

‘It’s very beautiful’, Marina conspirited.

‘Thank you’ Biankiss answered shyly, and responded even more fully.

A few tentative and then more insistent but always gentle movement moments later, and the result was more tent than tentative.

‘You’re gorgeous! You know that don’t you Kissy!’ Marina sincered, and consequent conspicuous finality was suddenly very evidently to the fore.

Now Marina grabbed and applied a vital device to the matter, and Biankiss lovely ice-blue eyes momentarily conveyed distress.

‘Oh gosh! Must the toggle be so tight?’

‘I’m sorry Kissy sweetheart, but it makes you so incredibly beautiful, and keeps you the way they’ll want to see you. And believe me Kissy; you look way beyond seductively sexy that way!!’

‘I know you’ll be nervous darling. Any girl would be; any first-timer on Nudie Night at the good old sordid old Dolly Damsel. We’ll start you off behind the bar. I’ll be there with you. But I rather think they’ll be wanting to be served by you. I know I would!’
........................

A few moments later some highly appreciative eyes were focused on the simply stunning Biankiss, fascinated by her all-but bare breasts which, with her petit stature, were not much above the bar-counter behind which she stood in tiptop-of-tiptoe in her ballet shoes.

‘‘Ere Jo! Be’ind der bar dare. Ain’t dat der gorgeous chick wot we saw dis mormin’ on der ‘igh Road?!’

‘Oh fuckin’ ‘ell! I dint know she served ‘ere! And by der looks orit, she ain’t got nuffink on! Nuffink but dem sexy gloves, dat ‘at, and dem funny little bars on ‘er lovely nippies’

‘‘Ere quick! Wotderyerwanna drink? Beers allround irrit?’

The surprisingly shy deputy gang-leader from the road crew operating on repairs not far from Biankiss’ apartment, took herself to the bar, trying to look casual, as if she was served by demi-naked bargirls every night of her life.

‘‘Ello darlin’. You’s a fuckin’ beauty ain’t yer?!’

‘Please be polite to the nudie-girl. She may be your servant for the night. But that’s no reason not to be nice to her...’ Marina interjected.

‘Sorry like. I dint mean no insult. She’s such a gorgeous babe.’

‘Her name’s ‘Biankiss’. But everyone calls her ‘Kissy’. Kissy can serve you here, or it’s twenty dollars each drink, to have her bring drinks to your table. Cash only for the table trips. No change given. And you slip the notes in one or both of the frilly garters she’s wearing.’

‘I knows dat. I’ve dun dat afore ain’I?’ the gang-girl asserted, to convey supposed sophistication and worldly experience; and to disguise that the procedures were in fact completely new to her knowledge.

‘Look. I know you and your friends like to have a good time on pay day. And your work must give you a thundering thirst. But it’s Kissy’s first time out on ‘Nudie Night’, so please be nice to her’, Marina added, to protect her delightful friend.

‘Dat woanbe no problem. Not wiv a gorgeous chick like ‘er’

‘‘Ellow Kissy sweet’art. I’d like five foamin’ dark-girl-pee-beers please; one fer me, and one for each of me mates. And willyer bring ‘em over ter der table just over dare please, sweet’art?’

‘Of course miss’, Biankiss assured, unsure how to pour a beer, and very self-conscious as this labouring girl ogled her every deliciously delightful move.

‘Youse bootiful, I ‘ope yer knows dat Kissy darlin’.’

‘Thank you miss’, Biankiss blushed as her slender gloved right hand and arm reached the handle to draw the first beer, lifting her right breast, and so disturbing the flowing heavy mercury within its nipple-clip, and thus leaving its enticing barbell dancing up and down at alternating ends, teasing and pleasing her right nipple into distinct arousal.

Under the beer tap Biankiss placed an empty one pint glass mug, and pulled the handle down forcefully fully, with the inevitable result, that the pressurised gassy beer hit the bottom of the glass too hard and fast, and spat up over the glass’ top, causing pretty Biankiss to squeak with very sexy surprise and step back in her tiptoed ballets.

‘You ain’t not poured a beer afore ‘ave yer darlin’’ the gang-girl sympathised.

‘Yer needs ter ‘old der glass tilted, an’ let der beer pour on der insides onit, till der glass starts ter fill, and den yer slowly straightens der glass. Oh an’, if yer don’t minds Kissy darlin’, me and me mates we only drinks der ‘Twin-Milk’ brand, the working girl informed, while she suddenly blushed at the sight of Biankiss’ lovely soft firm bare breasts when she said this. ‘Yer dint get no beer on yer nice clean gloves jus’ den afore did yer darlin’?’ she sweetly added.

‘No: I was a lucky girl there. But thank you for asking’, Biankiss smiled.

The gang-girl was instantly in love with this angel.

‘It were nuffink; not for a pretty girl like wot you is....’ the gang-girl added lamely.

‘There are other customers waiting for Kissy to serve them. Would you please go to your table’, Marina requested, politely but firmly.

‘Alright, alright; keep yer bra on! Dares no need ter get uppity!’ the work-gang-girl responded, to hide that she was blushing, because of Biankiss’ lovely smile which seemed solely for her.

To show that she felt no concern at the gang-girl’s directness, Biankiss smiled at her again.

The five beers poured, Biankiss looked up and saw that the bar was now suddenly becoming very crowded. And it was time for Biankiss to take her tray across the floor of the public house to the gang-girls’ table.

‘Will you be alright, Kissy? If you prefer to stay behind the bar I’ll take them for you’, Marina offered, kindly.

‘That’s alright’, Biankiss responded, but with a very anxious look on her face, matched by a familiar but highly inconvenient urgent urging in her lower bowels.

‘Here goes nothing!’ she then added to herself, as she lifted the tray in her long-gloved hands and took tentative steps, tiptoed in her ballets, to where the bar access hatch had been lifted open for her. But then she paused. She’d lost the necessary nerve.

‘I can do it! I know I can do it!’ she whispered to herself, between her negress-inheritance pretty-pout lips.

‘Two white girl-pee wines over here when you’re ready gorgeous!’

‘Sorry miss; white pee-wine you say?’ Biankiss queried, putting down the tray of beers, relieved to be able to stay behind the bar a little longer.

‘Where’s dem beers darlin’? Weese dyin’ o’ first overeer, ain’t we girls?!’

‘Will you bring the wines to our table please...‘Kissy’ isn’t it?’

‘Certainly miss; y..yes I..I’m Kissy, but I must deliver these beers first’, Biankiss answered, with what she hoped was a sufficiency of renewed determination.

And so Biankiss took the beer loaded tray again, and took the plunge, fought the urge, from her highly-strung nerves, to emit a little feminine fart, and wiggled out on her lovely legs onto the floor of the Dolly Damsel, across the wooden parquet floor, weaving her wiggling hips between the tables and chairs and signalling ‘come-hither’ front and behind, rearmost with the side-hollowed dimples in her firm bare bum; her buttocks being tensioned by her stance and her walk in constant en-pointe in her ballets.

And, she held her pretty head with its saucy bell-hop’s hat high, and blushed because she was so near naked and so very shy, and it surely must come, and as surely did; the inevitable cry:

‘Oh fuckin’ fuckin’ fuckin-fuckin’ ‘ell. She’s gorra cock!! Dat gorgeous chick ‘as gorra cock, she’s gorra fuckin’ little-girl, she’s a girl with a fuckin’ little-girl!!’

Biankiss was in two minds whether to continue to the table with the work-gang-girls, or to run back behind the bar.

All eyes turned her way, and she began to panic. Loud wolf-whistles, cheers and jeers followed one on another, louder and louder, with stomping feet and table’s rattled by slapping hands to applaud both her and her cock – her ‘little-girl’ - thrusting up to heaven from her groin. And then whistles of appreciation turned to clapped hands in adulatory applause.

‘You’re an angel!’ shouted an anonymous girl.

‘Yea and how!!’, came another cry, and more wolf-whistles, as Biankiss blushed and shy tears cornered her ice-blue eyes.

Her cock, her totally shaven erotically stunning ‘little-girl’, was near bolt upright, stiff and erect, paying full attention, with its veins swollen, as was its slightly exposed pink head, which was bared above its drawn-back foreskin.

Biankiss had a constant massive erection courtesy of Marina’s gentle handed handiwork, and the very tight toggle-thong she, Biankiss, wore at the base of her little-girl, above testicles presently tensioned by her terror at parading her nakedness, and that of her shaven little-girl, this way.

Biankiss had a proud little-girl to be proud of. It saw nine-inches readily erected and possible approaching even an even ten. She was a petit girl with a big little-girl standing proudly up and curving just slightly back toward her belly. Imagination, if not ascertainable fact, might conclude that, were it not so inclined at a curve, her little-girl would have been higher than Biankiss’ belly-button.

‘Can we give yer little-girl a kiss sweet’art?! Is she a naughty little-girl sometimes? Does yer ‘as ter spank ‘er now and den?’

Biankiss blushed, but was all too aware that her little-girl was getting stiffer still at this teasing. She approached the table with the working girls, who were sat there with their eyes out on metaphorical stalks.

‘Oh my god, ain’t you just luvly?!

‘Er names ‘Kissy’’, the girl who had ordered the beers proudly announced, showing off a claim of familiarity and closeness to and with Biankiss, to which she had no substantiable right.

‘Doesn’t dat ‘urt darling’? Yer little-girl is very stiff.’

‘Oh no, not at all’, Biankiss white-lied with her lovely smile, and her sparkling eyes: her eyes seeing that all the road-gang girls only had eyes for her little-girl. Then Biankiss flinched, a little shocked.

‘Sorry sweet’art. I weren’t touchin’ you none. I were jus’ purrin forty dollar in yer garter. Twenty fer you, and twenty fer yer gorgeous little-girl. ‘Ere you oughta get yer little-girl ‘er own garter ter wear! She’s so pretty!!’

‘Thank you’ Biankiss whispered, aware how close her little-girl was to the faces of the gang-girls, and feeling very nervous as they put more twenty dollar bills in her garters.

Her tray emptied, Biankiss curtsied to each of the gang-girls in turn, saying ‘Thank you miss’ each time. Then she wiggled back to the bar to loud wolf-whistles, and turned her pretty face over her shoulder and blushed and smiled and blew a kiss.

As she passed a table near the bar, a girl patted Biankiss’ bottom, and Biankiss squeaked seductively, and leggily leaped in her ballets, with, thereafter, her gloved hand caressing her bare bottom where it had been lightly smacked.

‘No touching or else you’ll be thrown out! I won’t warn you again!’ Marina called across, as she put the glasses of wine on Biankiss’ tray to save Biankiss time.

Biankiss thanked Marina with a smile and then turned to try and spot the customer who’d ordered the two white-girl-pee wines; only to find herself, and her little-girl, being admired by another young woman queuing to order a drink.

‘She’s adorable! Does your pretty little-girl go everywhere with you?, the sweet blonde girl queuing asked and complimented.

Biankiss giggled: ‘Thank you. That was sweet!’

‘I’ll be ordering a monthly-red wine, and a soda water for my girlfriend. If you and your little-girl will bring them to our table, there’ll be eighty dollars; forty for you, and forty for your pretty little-girl. What’s your name sweetheart?’

‘Biankiss, but everyone calls me ‘Kissy’’

‘And what’s your little-girl’s name, Kissy?’

‘Oh, she’s not got a name; but I suppose she’s Kissy too’ Biankiss gorgeously giggled.

‘Okay, so bring us our drinks, and it’ll be forty dollars for Kissy, and forty for pretty little Kissytoo!’

‘Oh that’s was so sweet!’ Biankiss whispered as she waved a gloved pretty hand in a downward motion to signal how nice the girl had been about her.

‘Yes you are so sweet: both of you!’ the girl answered and Biankiss blushed.

‘Get your little-girl to give us a wave darlin’!’ another customer called across to the blushing Biankiss.

‘No!’ Biankiss pouted as she called back. And then she giggled, to show that it was a ‘no’ that said she found the idea very sexy.

Biankiss now approached the table with the girl who’d ordered the two white girl-pee-wines sitting at it.

But not before yet another girl stage-whispered: ‘Hey sweetness! Did you know you’ve got a beauty spot on the right cheek of your bum?!’

Biankiss smiled, and blushed, obviously aware of the part of her anatomy that girl particularly admired.

‘Perhaps it’s god’s seal of quality approval!’, another girl joined in.

Biankiss squeezed a ‘thank you’ smile.

‘I’m sorry I took so long with your order, miss and miss’ Biankiss apologised to the white wine orderers.

‘I don’t blame you one bit. I blame your little-girl. She’s clearly very very naughty. We are strangely sure we recognise her. I think she’s on a list at the station house. We’re plain clothes detectives, you see!’

Biankiss fell concernedly silent. She bent forward and put the tray on the table, arranged two paper coasters, and placed the drinks on them, before curtseying to both customers, with the required: ‘thank you miss’ to each, all too aware that both women’s eyes were feasting on her little-girl, all the while. Somehow Biankiss felt both uncomfortable and a little excited in their company. But she wanted to wiggle away as soon as she could.

‘We want to talk your little-girl. We think she can help us with our enquiries’, one of the women whispered, as she fed two twenty dollar bills into Biankiss’ garters.

‘Bring her to our place...the police station....afterwards. We’ll give you guidance on how the pair of you should get there. You’ll have to go there just as you are, save that, to get your little-girl ready for our little chat with her, you’ll have to do the cigar-walk. And you’ll need to be disguised: for that…..yes, that’s it…..for that we’ll dress you as a bride I think!’

‘Two thousand dollars if she doesn’t confess. A thousand if she does!’

Biankiss looked astonished.

‘There’s customers waiting Kissy!’ Marina called over, distantly from.

‘Okay sweetheart. Since your little-girl is so very pretty, three thousand dollars if she doesn’t confess; two thousand if she does. She’ll need a responsible adult with her when we question her. So that’s why we’re inviting you as well!’

‘Biankiss! Kissy! We’re very busy tonight sweetheart!’ Marina concerned across the floor from the bar.

‘No’ Biankiss whispered to the white wine drinkers.

‘Three thousand dollars whether she confesses or not!’

‘What do you want to do to her?’ Biankiss found herself surprised to be asking.

‘We just want to have a little chat with her. Little-girls like her often go astray madam. It’s all part of growing up. We can’t make a fuss in here. So, as her parent, you’ll need to bring her to the station house. If she’s innocent, she’s got nothing to worry about.’

‘Okay. But only if my friend can come with us...Marina? the girl in charge behind the bar?’

‘No way sweetheart! It’s got to be just you and your little-girl.

‘Four thousand dollars whether she confesses or not!’

‘Oh hi Marina! We were just chatting up this little chick and her gorgeous little-girl’

‘What have they offered you Kissy?’

‘Four thou both ways’’ the leading girl among the two customers interjected before Biankiss could answer.

‘Wow! And what would that be for then?’

‘A cigar walk and interrogation of Kissy’s pretty little-girl’

‘Take it Kissy. You’ll have the time of your life with Kasandra and Aimee. I’ll hold the money for you. You’ll earn it sweetheart, or, rather, your little-girl will. Now come on gorgeous, there’s folk beginning to complain.

‘See you after the bar closes tonight Kissy, and your little-girl too of course’, Kasandra convidenced.

As Biankiss wiggled back to the bar with Marina, her titties’ natural motion emphasised by the bobbing mercury-filled barbells clipped to her nipples, she was all too aware of a mounting need.

But, as Biankiss wiggled back to the bar with Marina, she tried to distract herself and could not help but ask: ‘What’s a cigar walk?’

‘You’ll find out Kissy my angel. And believe me, you’ll do it exquisitely beautifully. And I want to be there when you do...’

‘But right just now, I’ve got a monthly-red and a soda for the two young ladies over there, Kissy’, Marina instructed as she put the iced drinks and two more coasters on Biankiss’ tray.

‘Hello Kissy and hewow wickle Kissytoo, you darling wickle-girl.

Biankiss’ constant erection was beginning to hurt her now. The toggle-thong was extremely tight, and she also feared she was losing circulation to her little-girl. But she smiled at the greeting, and giggled at the way her little-girl had been addressed.

‘Will your pretty little-girl give us a wave?!’ the attractive blonde asked.

Biankiss stepped back and jiggled her hips, and her little-girl waved side to side pendulum style.

‘Hey, sweetheart! We all of us wants a wave from your little-girl!’ the work-gang-girls called across. And shy Biankiss obliged them as they whistled loudly stamping their feet in celebration, while wolf-whistling Biankiss’ little-girl.

After her courtesy curtsies and her payment being fed into her now rather overloaded garters, Biankiss wiggled back to the bar yet once more.

‘Any chance of a quick pee please, Marina, I’m just dying to go!’, she enquired.

‘Well no; not really Kissy! Come on darling! You can see how busy we are!’

‘My little-girl feels very numb’

‘She’s fine. And she perfectly lovely’, Marina insisted, ‘Now I’ve more beers for the gang-workers over at table 2’: and Marina promptly planted five over-frothing pint glasses of girl-pee beer on Biankiss’ tray.

‘Let’s lend you a hand here’, Marina then added, as she took some of the money out of Biankiss’ garters, leaving a few notes to illustrate what the garters were for. ‘I’ll stow it in the safe sweetheart, along with the four thousand up-fronted by table 6?’ Marina assured.

‘Wow! Here’s der lovely little girl wiv der gorgeous little-girl comin’ our way agen! ‘Ellow Kissy darlin’ ‘Ellow little angel!’

‘‘Ere. Kissy sweet’art. Me and der rest of der girls was wondrin’....’

Biankiss smiled and waited before giving her curtsies. Meanwhile more twenty dollar bills were fed into her garters to pay her for bringing the drinks.

‘Could us girls buy you a drink Kissy sweet’art?’

‘Oh that is so thoughtful and so kind’, Biankiss smiled.

‘It’s nuffink fer such a luvly chick as you is. Hey, an’ we got us tickets fer later like. Yer know, when der ‘police?’ is gonna interview your little-girl?..... Marrer of fact Kissy, I fink der ‘ole of der custmers in dis place ‘as got tickets ter watch dat!’

‘Don’t you find all this rather demeaning Kissy; walking around more than half-naked with your erect bare cock on display for all to see, and god alone knows what’s been fitted on your nipples, or why; though one can guess?’, Sandra, the girl of Biankiss’ dreams, suddenly interjected from behind Biankiss.

‘Oh I don’t know. If you’ve got a lovely body, why not flaunt it?’, Pamela, Sandra’s fiancée, responded, ‘Kissy’s’ super-stiff little-girl turns me on, that’s for sure!’

‘I don’t like to hear my future wife talking like that, Pam!’ Sandra sniffily objected.

‘I’m only saying Biankiss’ erect little-girl is an incredibly erotic sight. And besides, we’re not married yet Sandy!’ Pamela retorted. And before Sandra could add reinforcement to her previous argument, Pamela added:

‘We’ve all got tickets for when your little-girl is interrogated, Kissy; all but ‘Miss Goody-Goody’ here!’ she smiled, as she put her tongue out playfully at her future husband-girl.

‘Who said I didn’t have a ticket?’ Sandra responded.

‘Oh so you went and bought one after all! You are a crafty little....ooh I don’t know!’ Pamela teased.

‘Kissy darling! We’ve got an overload at the bar sweetheart!’ Marina shouted above the general cacophony of the chatting laughing and cheering crowd around Biankiss.

‘We’ll see you later’, Dora whispered, looking into Biankiss’ twinkling ice-blue eyes, hoping to see love for her over and above the love Biankiss showed the whole world, the love for which Biankiss’ name alone should have been made a byword.
........................

The long evening ended, but didn’t finish for Biankiss with Chamita, the landlady of the Dolly Damsel paying her, and telling her she could come back and do another Nudie Night, along with her little-girl of course, at any time she wished...there was one every other month, on the last Friday....

‘And you’re doing some extra for us all tonight I hear....for all those who’ve paid that is; except me as landlady. I get in for free of course. Since it’s my place, I get to watch for free. Your little-girl is to star. Wow, I look forward to that! I’ve also got Marina an okay to stay and join in too. I know you wanted that Kissy, you gorgeous angel!’

Biankiss whispered sweetly: ‘Oh, I wanted to talk to you about that Marina. I’m so tired. I’m dying for a pee too. I’ve not been all night; not with my little-girl strapped up hard like this. And my cock, my little-girl....I’m sure my circulation has been cut off. Just look at the bulging veins in her!’

‘You aren’t going anywhere, Kissy. I’ve been put in charge of your preparation. When I say ‘you’re not going anywhere’ I mean you’re only going where you’re told. Take your garters off, and do it now!’ Marina commanded.

The three women, Marina, Chamita, and Biankiss were in the room behind the bar of the Dolly Damsel where Biankiss had originally been prepared for Nudie Night.

Chamita advised: ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ll just pop and tell Kasandra and Aimee that you are getting Kissy and her little-girl ready for her walk to the ‘police station’. And I’ll get the furniture rearranged next door, in ‘police station’ mode!’

‘Please Marina, I’m so tired!’ Biankiss pleaded.

‘You may be tired, but as a mother you’ve got responsibilities. Your little-girl is wanted for interview at the police station. At your little-girl’s age there has to be a responsible adult present when the police do an interview. So, as her mother, you must escort her there, and be there when she is interviewed’, Marina insisted.

Of course Biankiss recognised the beginning of some sexual role-play developing. But it was only now, when she could clearly hear the echo of Marina’s voice, she realised that, in sound at least, that what was going on was being broadcast to the drinkers next door.

‘Take off your hat. You will wear the veil for your walk to the police station. We do not allow girls, especially very pretty girls like you – ‘married’ girls like you - to bare their lovely faces when they are out in public. So you must wear the full veil, to show that you are as submissive and demure as a good mother of a pretty little-girl, such as the lovely innocent creature between your legs, should be!’ Marina asserted.

As Biankiss complied in taking off her saucy bell-hop’s hat, Marina brushed Biankiss’ boy-cropped hair, and gave Biankiss a parting on her left side.

‘We must prepare your little-girl for you to escort her to the station’

Biankiss looked at Marina with eyes that said ‘Oh please, I’m so very tired!’ adding, without saying, that she’d been on the top-tip of tiptop-tiptoe in her ballets all night, and her calves, the compellingly curved calves of her very shapely legs, were murderously tired.

‘Don’t you dare look at me like that, you bitch!’ Marina shouted, and, of that very sudden instant, Biankiss found a new wave of stiffness in her little-girl.

Marina now took a long string; a long cotton-mix string, alike with that deployed in the side-ties of a bikini’s bottom half, or a beach-thong. And then she gently and deftly lowered Biankiss’ cock, pressing it down from its swollen insistence at pointing essentially heavenward, as if to indicate its origin.

And then she put the string through a metal ring that had always been in place on the top side – the side furthest from Biankiss’ testicles – the top side of the toggle-thong-strap that was strangling the base and just above the testicles of Biankiss’ little-girl – the part of Biankiss’ lovely cock that had hitherto been hidden by her consistently insistent and startlingly starch-stiff erection.

This done, having evened out the length either side of the ring as centre, Marina took each loose end of the ‘string’ around the backs of Biankiss’ firm fulsome thighs, around to the front, passing the ends under Biankiss’ suspenders where they dandled at the outside sides of her thighs.

She then motioned Biankiss to stand, very close-legged; indeed lightly crossing her superb thighs, with her little-girl pointing down – hauled down by the ‘string’ - and lodged snugly between her slightly crossed thighs, with its distended head between Biankiss’ stocking tops.

Now Marina, having drawn the string around the front of Biankiss’ thighs, pulled it very tight to haul Biankiss’ little-girl into a definite downward pointing state, with its swollen head between the tops of Biankiss’ virgin-white stockings.

This done, and holding the string’s ends tautly, so as to keep Biankiss’ little-girl pointing down, Marina wound the two ends of the string over each other at base-of-cock height at the front of Biankiss’ thighs, twice, as if in the preliminary to tying a finishing bow. But, instead of bowing to a bow at base-of-cock height, Marina tied the two ends in a tight knot, and instructed Biankiss to unwrap her thighs from each other. This tightened the knot even more, and the string pressed quite hard into Biankiss’ lovely thigh flesh.

Marina now once more passed the still lengthy loose ends, around the outsides of Biankiss’ thighs, over her suspender belt, around Biankiss’ back, above Biankiss’ lovely bottom, where she intertwined the strings’ ends once more in pre-bow-tying style, and then brought the two ends around Biankiss’ belly, at a height just above Biankiss’ suspender belt.

Now Marina looked at her handiwork and checked the string – the cock-thong – was still pulling Biankiss’ naked nude little-girl into firmly down-pointing status between Biankiss’ handsome thighs. And then, she – Marina – tied the string’s ends off in a secure double-bow at the base of Biankiss’ belly.

The look in Biankiss’ glorious ice-blue eyes told of the shock Biankiss felt at this weird bondage, and her mystification as to its purpose.

‘Let’s check your nipple barbells, you little slut!’

At this, Marina flicked one end of each barbell in turn, and Biankiss gasped sexily as the rocking commotion from the interminably flowing mercury, seeking alternating homes within each end-bell, taunted and teased and, if truth be told, pleased her very sensitive nipples.

‘Keep up on your toes in those ballets, you bitch!!’ Marina commanded when she thought she’d noticed Biankiss relaxing her legs.

‘Ooh! That’s so, so lovely! Is it for me?!’ Biankiss squealed delightedly when the veil she was to wear was revealed.

‘Of course it’s for you to stupid slut! Didn’t you hear me say you were to walk to the police station in the veil required by the customs and practices for ‘married’ mothers going around in public in this very religious nation?!’ Marina somewhat clumsily rehearsed, as a scene for the public listening next door in the main bar, to the acting out of the fantasy they had bought tickets for.

Marina now handed Biankiss a rose, a pure white, a virgin-white, a real rose, barely open beyond bud.

‘You will carry the rose in your gloved hands at all times. You will hold it in both hands, holding both hands flat together with your fingers pointing heavenward, as if in prayer. You will never ever use either hand to touch yourself in any way whatsoever, no matter what may occur or arise!’.

Biankiss obediently took the rose and held it at just above belly button height, with her pretty gloved hands in the required supplicatory pose, wincing when one of its thorns bit a finger through her arm-long virgin-white gloves.

Marina nextly swept up the copious translucent rose-patterned lace-net veil, a veil so enormous, that, as Marina centred it on Biankiss’ head, it formed not just a veil alone, but also an all-enveloping dress, that trailed the floor around Biankiss’ tiptop tiptoed feet, not just, since it was square, at its corners, but also in some part of its four sides.

To keep the veil in place, Marina crowned the lovely Biankiss, with a virgin-white elasticated headband interwoven with two dozen perfect white fresh real roses, these with their thorns removed, pushed down lightly but tightly halfway on Biankiss’ momentarily sweetly furrowed brow.

When she was shown herself in a mirror, Biankiss blushed and gasped open-mouthed, and felt a tingle in her little-girl that reinforced its extremely engaged engorged state between her thighs.

No bride could possibly have looked more wonderful than sweet Biankiss in this ‘wedding gown’. Its folds flowed, teasing and pleasing, as it masked more, and yet less, and thus never completely, her feminine charms, or her gorgeous face. No virgin bride could have looked more en-prise for the altar and the altered state of her innocence on an upcoming wedding night. Were she not a hundred miles away and, perhaps blessedly, oblivious to the real proceedings her daughter was involved in right now, Biankiss’ mother would surely have shed tears of sadness and joy to see her lovely daughter in such a veil and such a dress as these folds of lace framed and formed and enfolded her for her sacrifice to love.

But Biankiss was soon snapped out of love’s longing dreams, and could hardly believe what was ordered her next.

‘Dressed only as you are now throughout your walk, and always holding your bouquet rose before you under your veil dress as you do right now, no matter what happens, you will walk out of the Dolly Damsel, Kissy, by its back door. You will then walk around the side of this public bar to its front on Girl Market Square.....

......And you will then walk all around the outer paving edge of Girl Market Square, visiting every corner in your walk, till you return to the front of the Dolly Damsel, which you will enter as if it were a police station and you were bringing in your little-girl, by appointment. The police will then ask your little-girl about her possible involvement in shoplifting during a lunch break at that very expensive and exclusive school you are paying to send your very bright and very pretty, but rather wayward, little-girl to, for her education....

.......And I can see that look on your face you slut; and yes, you will do the walk, and yes, you will do it entirely on your own and therefore, as would be obvious for anyone with more than your apology for a brain, without any escort. Is that clear!!?’

Biankiss’ stunning eyes appealed for clemency. But she both knew it was hopeless and that she wanted it to be hopeless, and not because she needed the promised money alone either. And so she began her walk…..
........................

And so Biankiss obediently began her walk.

Biankiss strode and discovered her stride was restricted by her little-girl’s cock-thong stringing, and that her little-girl was rubbed by her thighs and her stockings’ tops when she walked. She paused; realised that this was meant to be, and walked toward the rear door of the Dolly Damsel with trepidation and tiny tears cornering her lovely eyes. And she saw the darkness outside and realised some relief; she would be hidden by the comfort-blanket of the moonless midnight. But that was before she saw the shadows from the street lights in the main square at full night bore bright. And she wiggled as she walked and her thighs rubbed her little-girl and rolled its foreskin back and forth, and forth and back, and it was exciting for her little-girl.

And Biankiss found that she was ‘Kissytoo’, that she was her little-girl. And she and her little-girl were walking up the dark alley toward Girl Market Square. And she could hear the clatter of the ponygirl hoofs as ponygirl-drawn cabs and omnibuses hauled the girls of the town home for the night or to hotels to make love with their girlfriends, or to night clubs for more foreplay-fun, this being the weekend.

And Biankiss’ fear rose and she let go a tiny girly fear-fart. And she wiggled into the entrance and exit from the alleyway. At every step, at her every wiggle her thighs rubbed her little-girl. And all her courage it took for her to emerge into the open and turn right to teeter on the top tips of tiptoe in her ballets in her veil and cock-thong around the square.

And her steps were giving her little-girl a cigar-role roll and Biankiss loved it. Her distended little-girl was having its foreskin rubbed and rolled by her thighs and her stockings’ tops, and her little-girl loved it too, and Biankiss loved it for the love of her precious little-girl.

And Biankiss and her little-girl were in the open on the square and: ‘Hello darlin’. You lost the way to a weddin’ ‘ave you?’ and wolf-whistles and cat calls and jeers and cheers as she wiggled and rubbed her little-girl as she walked, rolling her little-girl’s foreskin back and forth, and back and forth, with her thighs’ strides, and talking to herself in her head that she mustn’t cum she mustn’t have a cum and piss her stocking tops with her little-girl’s love-seed.

And her little-girl was getting harder as the cat calls grew louder, and Biankiss was loving being exposed under her completely transparent veil-dress; exposed and so vulnerable and yet so protective of her little-girl as she walked along in her little-girl’s cock-thong.

‘Wow sweetheart aren’t you just a picture! Have you just got married? That’s a perfect wedding dress. Is your honeymoon at one of the local hotels?’

Biankiss wiggled on rubbing her little-girl as she walked; rolling her little-girl’s foreskin on her stocking tops between her striding thighs. ‘Oh my god, you’re a shemale! Oh how wonderful! What a big little-girl you’ve got darling! Are you giving it a naughty-rub?’

Biankiss wiggled on, her distress returning. She longed her walk was over and people would just ignore her. Then a girl she knew from schooldays passed her: ‘Kissy! It is Kissy isn’t it? Oh for god’s sake Kissy? Don’t you feel ashamed walking around in public like that? It’s bloody disgusting! You’re disgusting Kissy! I’m thoroughly ashamed of you! And you should be bloody well ashamed of yourself!!

Biankiss wiggled on, her titties tormented at her every step by the mercury flowing in the tube between the hollow balls of her barbell nipple clips. She tried to prevent her titties’ natural motions with her gloved upper arms. But she must obey her order to hold her rose bouquet in the supplicatory prayer position her pretty hands were held together in. And she realised the compulsion for her to keep her hands held together this way was to prevent her doing anything to stop her walk rubbing her little-girl. And the prayer position of her hands did at least aid this independently minded little beauty to pray that the rubbing of her little-girl would not cause her to cum, and to shame herself, and her little-girl, in public, by spurting love-seed out in the open on the street.

A crisis was coming. Biankiss had wiggle-stepped in her ballets the first side of the square, and her little-girl had found the rubbing and rolling of its foreskin too exciting and was threatening to spurt. Biankiss must think of something she must think of anything that would stop her little-girl spurting in the street.

And yet the teasing of her nipples by the barbells and the rubbing and rolling and rolling and rubbing of her little-girl’s foreskin between her thighs as she processed in her every heavenly step....oh god!!

She could think of nothing but her little-girl in its cock-thong and the rubbing of her little-girl between her thighs as she walked; and the rolling of her little-girl’s foreskin back and forth, and forth and back, between her thighs as she walked with her little-girl in a cock-thong; and the rubbing of her little-girl between her stockings’ tops as she walked; and the rolling of her little-girl’s foreskin back and forth, and back and forth, between her thighs on her stockings’ tops as she wiggled on her tiptop tiptoes in her ballets with her little-girl in a cock-thong, the rubbing on her stockings making her little-girl’s head hyper-hot and tingling ecstatically with static from the incessant unceasing increasing friction.

Biankiss was half along the long far side of Girl Market Square now. And, oh god, she was going to cum, her little-girl was going to cum. ‘Oh please god don’t let me cum. Oh please, please god don’t make my little-girl cum in public on the open street and shame me for all my days as the girl who let her little-girl spurt her thighs and stockings walking in a cock-thong in her wedding dress to take her little-girl to the police station for an interview.

Now Biankiss began to more fully take on the role she was to play for the money she was to be paid for having her little-girl interrogated by the police at the Dolly Damsel ‘police station house’. And she began to give her little-girl, her stiff little-girl, a stiff talking to in her mind: ‘If it wasn’t for you little lady, I wouldn’t; we wouldn’t be out at this time of night! Whatever did you think you were up to?!’

But that didn’t work, and reality interrupted and intervened and the reality was the mounting excitement in Biankiss’ little-girl, and the certainty that her little-girl was going to spurt with all this rubbing and foreskin rolling from merely walking in her cock-thong.

As Biankiss wiggled the corner for the walk down the third side of Girl Market Square, she knew the meaning of a ‘cigar-roll walk’ with a vengeance. Her little-girl was rubbed and rubbed and her little-girl’s foreskin rolled forwards and backwards and forwards and backwards and fore and aft and fore and aft, as Biankiss tiptop tippy-toed in her ballets with her lovely titties dancing and prancing and her barbell nipple clips rocking and rolling with the mercury flow tolling a tale of excitement in teats tensioned to high pitch excitement and arousal by their never-ending ministrations, and her little-girl in her cock-thong rubbed and rubbed and rolled and rolled as she strolled, and her little-girl’s foreskin briskly rotated forwards and backwards and forwards and backwards and fore and aft and fore and aft, as Biankiss obeyed her order to wear the veil for decency and as she took her little-girl for an appointment at the police station.

And the crisis of a cum spurt was mounting impossibly higher still. And Biankiss didn’t know what she could do to stop her little-girl spurting love-seed as it was rubbed by her thighs and by her stocking tops, and its foreskin rotated back and forth, in her cock-thong and its head burned from the friction of the incessant foreskin semi-rotations and the friction from her nylons. And Biankiss was sure she wouldn’t be paid if she, if her little-girl came in the walk of shame she was enduring.

And the wolf-whistles and cheers told her some girls had stepped onto the pavement sidewalk outside the Dolly Damsel to urge her on. And Biankiss bit her pretty lower lip to stop her little-girl spurting. And she could not look and see but she knew the rubbing and the cigar-roll-role her little-girl was performing between her thighs as she walked with her little-girl in a cock-thong, had exposed more of her little-girl’ bare head, and the rub on her stocking tops was making the head of her little-girl very sore. And her little-girl’s foreskin appeared to have been pulled back so far by Biankiss’ walk with her little-girl in a cock-thong, that her wiggle-walk was now rubbing her cock proper without her little-girl’s foreskin protecting her from the hot rubbing on her stocking tops. And Biankiss could feel mounting even greater tingling in her little-girl. And she knew it was from the stockings constantly rubbing the head of her little-girl. And she longed for the tingling to continue it was so incredibly painfully exciting to her little-girl.

‘Wow! An angel in her wedding gown! You’re gorgeous darling you know that don’t you?!! What lucky girl married you?! You’re absolutely stunning!! Ooh, look, you’ve got a little-girl! How perfectly wonderful. She looks very sore. Are you wearing a cock-thong for the cigar-roll walk to get your little-girl ready for your wife on your wedding night?’

‘She’s bringing her little-girl in to help the police with enquiries - a little sexual fantasy we’re indulging’, Marina informed. It’s two hundred dollars if you want to come in and watch’.

‘Well’ whatever that’s going to be about, if it involves this lovely chick, and if you take plastic, count me in, and how!’ the stranger enthused.

And, at last Biankiss and her tormented little-girl re-entered the Dolly Damsel; and there were wolf-whistles, long low and then loud one-note whistles, feet stamping, hands clapping and banging tables, and feet stomping the floor to greet the return of the thoroughly humiliated Biankiss, and her little-girl, to the Dolly Damsel, and a talking to for her little-girl from ‘the police’.
........................

As the walking stopped and Biankiss momentarily stood, a tingling pain in her little-girl from the rubbing and rolling of her foreskin, and the static electricity built up from that foreskin rubbing and foreskin rolling back and forth, and to and fro, between her thighs as she had walked around Girl Market Square, grew gradually to a very painful throb, and Biankiss adored it, as too did her little-girl. And she lowered her head to hide the deep shame she felt from this deep and deeply embarrassing pleasure in public shame.

The ‘play’ began immediately.

‘Ah, you must be Mrs Biankiss. Have you brought your daughter...’Kissytoo’ isn’t it....have you brought Ms Kissytoo with you?’ Aimee in the role of a policegirl detective enquired.

Marina removed Biankiss’ crown and the veil dress and took the rose Biankiss had so faithfully carried in prayer around Girl Market Square. Then she cut the strings of Biankiss’ cock-thong, whisking away its loose ends; and Biankiss’ heavily cigar-roll-walk, teasingly tormented little-girl, sprang up to instant attention.

‘Ah good! Now, little lady, we need to have a chat about a shoplifting incident a week last Friday, at a location near your school, during what would have been the luncheon break for you, and the other little girls who go to that very expensive and extremely exclusive establishment.’

The audience were wrapped up in this weird extemporised play with the gorgeous Biankiss and her cock not as the one and only, but as its two leading ladies.

So as to indicate that they were ‘police detectives’, Aimee and Kasandra wore miniskirt-short raincoats for this performance.

‘Perhaps we can appeal to you through your poor momma’s struggles’, Aimee added, as she nodded to Marina to hand Biankiss a sweeping broom.

‘Sweep the floor you bitch!’ Marina spat. And Biankiss began to sweep between the tables.

Aimee came in again: ‘Your poor momma has struggled to afford your school fees, Ms Kissytoo. She works every night at the Dolly Damsel public house, thinking only of her little-girl, even as the landlord’s chief barmaid bosses your momma around cruelly. And the customers smack her bare bottom as she moves among the tables, and some of them pinch her pretty bum, and she has to put up with all that for the sake of her little-girl and her little-girl’s expensive education.’

‘Oh yea!!’ came a shout from the work-gang girls, and Biankiss squeaked and leapt when her pretty bum was pinched. And no sooner had she turned from that, than another girl slapped Biankiss’ bare bottom resoundingly hard.

‘Stop distracting the customers and sweep the floor you damned useless bitch!’ Marina ordered, and Biankiss guardedly complied, trying to keep her bottom from being pinched or slapped again; though she must have known that such a lovely target would not be resisted for long.

‘And sometimes she is visited at her nightly work by the landlady of the Dolly Damsel, who is really nasty to her, and has tried to assault her little-girl: yes you Ms Kissytoo, though that was when you were very young, long before you began going to your present school, and you may have blocked the horror of it from your memory!’

Biankiss turned at a tap on her shoulder and gave the landlady, Chamita, her prettiest smile, only to find Chamita’s hand ineffectually grabbing for her little-girl, making Biankiss double at the waist to avoid her little-girl being touched, and to receive a harsh slap hard across her very pretty face, in consequence.

‘Oooh please! That hurt so!’ Biankiss protested, and as she rose it could be seen that a spot of blood was at the corner of her lovely mouth.

‘And now your momma has had to take an evening off from the only work she can find to pay your school fees, Ms Kissytoo, to bring you here to this police station for questioning.

Marina moved a chair before Aimee, and took away Biankiss’ broom.

‘Do please sit down Mrs Biankiss.’

Biankiss sat, with her little-girl highly heavenly high and hard up-thrusting from between her beautiful thighs.

‘Thank you for bringing your little-girl in Mrs Biankiss. We appreciate that you’re having to lose pay bringing her here for interview. And, unfortunately, we have to add to your cares. You see we are absolutely sure your little-girl was the lead mischief in the shoplifting spree indulged a week since. We have recent street-security-camera pictures of your little-girl walking around Girl Market Square, wearing a very expensive, and equally exclusive, designer cock-thong, from a range we know were stolen from ‘Cocky Girl’, the emporium in question.’

‘Now, all we need is a confirmatory admission signed by your little-girl, and she will be let off with a caution this time......

......Yes, that’s right. If your little girl signs the confession we have drawn up for her, she won’t go to an all-girl’s reform prison, that’s guaranteed. Indeed, if she signs, she won’t even go to court, and therefore she won’t get a criminal record. And so, she can graduate school and go to college with no record anywhere to say that she was anything other than a good little-girl. But if she doesn’t sign right here and now, nothing is ruled out.’

‘My colleague has the confession paper here.’

At this, Aimee turned to Kasandra, who carried a stiff black card with the words ‘I am Kissytoo and I did do the shoplifting: I’m sorry!’ printed in large white lettering upon it. And she took it over to the flinching Biankiss, and pressed the bottom right corner of the page against the head of Biankiss’ little-girl, sliding it across the septum of her cock in a ‘cross’ motion fore and back and fore and back, before withdrawing it, and showing it to Aimee.

‘Has your little-girl not learned how to write at that expensive school you send her to? If it’s all she’s capable of, she can just mark a cross. Will you try again please Detective Kasandra.’

Kasandra repeated the sliding of the stiff card over the top of Biankiss’ little-girl, with the same lack of success, the same absence of mark. She again held the card up to show Aimee, and then the audience.

‘Your little-girl, your little Kissytoo, is being very stubborn. She is clearly very full of ink. She’s carrying two heavy sacks of ink with her. She must have more than enough ink in her lovely balls, to write a mere cross on her confession.....

.....But, since she won’t oblige in response to a polite request, indeed two polite opportunities have been turned down by her..... It seems she is sulking like a spoilt brat, and it looks as if we are going to have to beat a confession, and some white ink to sign it with, out of your little-girl!’

Aimee nodded to Marina and Kasandra, and there was a mumble rumble of curious excitement in the audience, and a look around the Dolly Damsel revealed girls outside gently nudging each other out of the way, and pressing their eyes shaded by one hand, up to all the windows to see if they could see for free, what was to happen to the pretty girl with the pretty little-girl they had not long since witnessed in her beautiful veil, walking around Girl Market Square.

Those who could not manage a view were being given a giggling running commentary by excited exciting soprano voices: ‘They’re tying her up with her back to a post: one of the ceiling supports!’

And so they were. Biankiss made a struggle, but only prettily, and ineffectually. Her wrists were behind an oak upright. They were tied to a horizontal peg behind that rigid upright, so that her gloved arms were high above her head.

Now her legs were being drawn back behind the upright as well. And her tiptoe-stood feet were placed together and her ankles tied tightly first to each other and then behind the upright post. The position was very uncomfortable. But it meant that the cushion provided by Biankiss’ ample posterior was prompting her very erect little-girl to stand out outstandingly.

And then, without more ado, Marina, Biankiss’ friend Marina, began to slap Biankiss’ little-girl with her bare hand. And she hit Biankiss’ little-girl from side to side. The little-girl springing back erect, centrally erect, at each slap, only to be slapped the opposite way from that she had just sprung back from. Biankiss’ little-girl was being beaten like a boxer’s gymnasium punch-ball.

‘All those who have bought tickets to slap the little-girl, queue up please. And don’t forget. We are looking to beat a confession out of her. So show absolutely no mercy whatsoever!’ Aimee ordered.

The love of sweet Biankiss’ life, Sandra, took over next, and slapped Biankiss’ little-girl harder still, thwacking its head with fearsome blows that made Biankiss bite her lower lip and cry out with the pain.

Sandra made the most of her beating, by spacing her smacks such as to allow Biankiss’ little-girl to settle back from her previous whack, and then time the next slap of the little-girl to follow a lining-up of her hand with its middle fingers slightly more backward of the two outer ones, so as to increase the pain. Biankiss’ little-girl was thus being slapped as if the girl beating it wanted to slap it right across the room in either direction.

‘Please; oh please, it hurts me so!! Oh please, please stop!! Please stop!’ Biankiss pleaded.

‘Apart from your being her mother, what has it to do with you, you stupid woman? It’s your little-girl that is being beaten, not you!’ Aimee hissed, to loud giggles from the audience.

Chamita was waiting her turn, watching Biankiss’ little-girl being unmercifully slapped from side to side, and showing decided swelling from its cruel treatment.

Aimee prompted: ‘The little-girl is looking decidedly arrogant, Chamita. Beat her down. Slap her down to the floor where she belongs. Then she’ll sign the confession!’

And, when Chamita took her turn, this was the pattern Biankiss’ little-girl must endure. And the vicious slapping down of the head of Biankiss’ little-girl hurt more than the slapping from side to side.

‘Don’t let her know which way you are going to hit her. Slap the little-girl any which way you choose. And hit hard for goodness sake! We are after a confession here!’ Aimee instructed.

‘Blindfold the mother!’ Aimee then instructed, and a cloth was tied around Biankiss’ head to cover her lovely sparkling ice-blue eyes.

And so terror was now added to the torture of Biankiss’ little-girl. And the beating of Biankiss’ little-girl continued endlessly, endlessly. The little-girl was mercilessly slapped from side to side, and then sometimes hard down, and she sprang back from each swipe, no matter how hard or gentle or cruelly savage the slaps.

Half an hour passed, then a full hour, and still Biankiss’ little-girl was being slapped, and slapped, and slapped, and slapped.

Girls were still waiting to beat the little-girl. Some were on their second turn. These had watched what others did, and had thought out new cruelties. And so Biankiss’ little-girl was hit with closed fists, or exclusively with the back of the fingers of the torturer. And her little-girl was extremely swollen and evidenced some blood.

And, the first hour melted into the second, and far beyond even that, surely beyond savage duration. And even still yet, even yet still, Biankiss’ little-girl was being slapped, and slapped, and slapped, and slapped. And still she returned to sit up and beg for more.

‘What’ve you got there?!’ Aimee whispered in the blindfolded Biankiss’ hearing: hearing that included the sound of a curiously familiar rattling Biankiss knew from home life, but could not locate in her mind what location in her home it was familiar from.

And the long handled pliable-plastic brushes that were against each seat in the public house’s lavatories had been brought into the bar-room. And Aimee seized one, weighed it in her hand, and began to whip Biankiss’ little-girl brutally side to side, slapping the little-girl’s swollen head with the stiff bristles in one direction, and the hard back of the brush’s head in the other. And Biankiss squealed with the pain as the bristles multiply-grazed her little-girl’s foreskin and the foreskin began to bleed.

The savage beating of the little-girl continued, with bare hands, the toilet brushes, and other implements including wet towels for another hour of the little-girl being slapped, and slapped, and slapped, and still sitting up for more.

By now every single girl in the bar had taken several turns to beat the little-girl. And still there was no sign of her being inked-up to sign her confession.

Girls who hadn’t paid had managed to sneak in too, and to take their opportunity to slap the little-girl from side to side to and back and forth.

‘She’s a tough little-girl, but I’ve dealt with harder problems than her. We’ll beat a confession out of her if it takes till a fortnight of dawns’ Aimee threatened.

‘Did we ought to beat the little-girl’s mother?’ Kasandra enquired, deliberately for Biankiss’ hearing.

‘No, Detective Kasandra; it is the little-girl that did the crime, so it must be the little-girl that confesses. Keep beating the little-girl. Believe me, she’ll give in eventually.’

The brutal slapping of the little-girl continued, with bare hands and even two table tennis bats, for yet another hour of the little-girl being slapped, and slapped, and still popping up for more.

Biankiss’ little-girl was swollen and bleeding but still defiantly erect in its toggle-thong strap. And the still blindfolded Biankiss was well into the third hour of having her little-girl slapped, and slapped, and slapped, and slapped. And still there was no sign of a confession: no sign of the white ink needed to sign the confession.

All this longest long while of cruel beating of Biankiss’ little-girl, the girl who loved Biankiss beyond measure had sat through, her watching misted by tears initially, her love having her little-girl slapped, and slapped, and slapped, and endlessly beaten to and fro, and hit so hard back and forth, and forth and back, and then slapped down and then to and fro, and to and fro, and back and forth, and back and forth, and then slapped hard down.

‘Please may I have a turn’, Biankiss heard sweet Dora’s voice enquire.

‘Of course Dory sweetheart! But you didn’t look as if you were enjoying this as much as we all are!’ Miranda whispered.

Dora smiled shyly. ‘I’m ready to take a turn now though.’

And she stepped forward and placed her gentle hand on Biankiss’ little-girl, and stroked it once gently, before she bent and sweetly kissed her terribly bruised and horribly swollen and profusely bleeding head. Then she drew back her pretty hand, and slapped Biankiss’ little-girl with all her might, back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth, faster and faster and faster; then she paused and slapped the little-girl back and forth, and back and forth, and back and forth,; and then she paused a little longer still, and then again she slapped Biankiss’ little-girl as hard as she could. And of that same sudden Biankiss howled with the joy of the pain she had endured and the humiliation her little-girl had suffered and the hour upon endless hour of her little-girl being thrashed and slapped and beaten and slapped, and slapped, and slapped, and her body went immensely rigid as the whole of her lovely soul left her gentle heart and entered her little-girl, and Dora slapped the little-girl back and forth, and back and forth, as hard and as often as she could and the little-girl went as immensely rigid as lovely Biankiss, and Biankiss screamed inhumanly with the heaven of the highest of high joy, and Dora slapped the little-girl back and forth, and back and forth, back and forth, and the little-girl spurted and squirted her love-seed in defiance of gravity and the force of Dora’s slaps, and the spurt anointed the bar’s walls left and right, and fountained forth toward the oak beams of the Dolly Damsel’ ceiling.

And, finally, the cardboard document was drawn across the pretty little-girl‘s head, in the two motions that would secure a bloodied-white cross as the little-girl’s mark; the little-girl’s ink signed the confession, and the little-girl was free to go home with her momma and then, maybe, just maybe, back to her school; her crime perhaps now history and her future just remotely possibly secured.

Amidst applause and cheering and wolf-whistles, Marina removed Biankiss’ blindfold, untied her from the post, and finally removed the toggle-thong that had forced Biankiss’ little-girl into a seven-hour constant erection.

Biankiss’ little-girl was dreadfully sore and bleeding, and she winced and cried out with the flood of extra pain that shot through her little-girl’s nerve-endings as, at long last her little-girl could and did relax toward its flaccid state.

Now lovely Biankiss turned and smiled shyly at Dora.

‘Don’t even begin to imagine that it is over for you and your little-girl yet, Kissy! You are going to be my wife; you bitch!’, Dora whisper-hissed, determinedly.

And Biankiss lowered her sweet face, and averted her eyes, and her little-girl shot up into an instant heavenly heavy harder than hard erection again.....
........................

As she entered her regular bar at the Nell Quim public house in Barnmouth’s Girl Market Square, a little late for a weekly lunchtime gathering, Dora raised a pretty hand and swiftly flexed its fingers and then its thumb in turn as a wave, before joining friends assembled at the table that awaited her.

As she approached the brunette Sandra, Sandra rose and held back a chair for Dora, ready to slide it under the angel as she lowered herself to sit.

Meanwhile, Biankiss, who had hitherto dutifully followed the required three paces behind her husband-girl, seemed to forget her place, and reflexed to be the one to seat herself, causing Dora to whisper quietly gently: ‘Who gave you permission to sit, sweetheart?’, and the thus reminded Biankiss to stay standing with her head hanging apologetically.

Biankiss very rarely joined the company these days. So it was perhaps her presence that prompted the question the answer to which never came up in Dora’s normal conversation:

‘How’s married life then Dora’, this from Sandra, who was still engaged to and yet to take the same plunge with Pamela. ‘You and Kissy must be coming up to your first anniversary?’

Dora initially avoided answering the first part of the question, merely answering: ‘Next month, the 13th Friday the 13th would you believe!’

‘Of course it is. That must mean today is the anniversary of your ordering Kissy to marry you....The anniversary of the fun we had with her when she did Nudie Night here at the good old ‘Dolly D’. And god, did we have some fun, or did we have some fun! Woo, and how!!’

The lovely Biankiss, ‘Kissy’ to all who knew her, stood obediently behind her husband-girl’s chair, blushing profusely and ruefully at Sandra’s reminder.

‘Kissy and I are blissfully happy. She knows her place of course, as a wife should. She’s got used to living at home, doing the chores. We can’t both go out to earn a living, and, to be honest, Kissy was never going to find a career....Surely few do when they are still looking for a first job a whole year after graduating college.’

‘She’s looking very pretty, don’t you think?’, Dora admiringly invited.

‘Our Kissy was always a stunner!’ Pamela interjected.

Dora responded: ‘She’s devoted to her looks and her body, of course, just as a girl should be. She gymnasiums daily for three hours. And she costs me a fortune in hairdressers, hand girlicures, and her pedicures, not to mention her full-body waxings. And as for makeup! My goodness me: it certainly gets no less expensive!’

It’s all for love isn’t it sweetness?’ Dora whispered turning her head to Biankiss, to be answered by Biankiss’ lovely eyes telling the universe that ‘love’ was too weak a word and so too ‘deepest devotion’.

Biankiss looked stunning indeed. On her head, with its boy-cropped hair, she wore a soft felt dome-crowned broad-brimmed hat, in brilliant mauve with matching hatband ribbon. Her hat slouched slightly to the left of her head at an appealing angle.

Her beltless A-line dress was in clearly expensive bright mauve pure silk.

Her fine denier seamed nylons were in today’s mauve theme too, and so also, it could be guessed with certainty of winning the bet, were her suspenders. The seams of Biankiss’ nylons were impeccably straight.

She stood on her very shapely legs in a pair of mauve ballets, holding her on tiptop of tiptoe, tensioning the muscles in her delectable calves deliciously.

On her negress inheritance lips, she wore lipstick to echo the same theme as her dress, her stockings, and, at the aforementioned guess, her suspenders. Her eye-makeup completed the seductive scene.

Biankiss’ choice of makeup could have been clumsy and juvenile for a mature girl like herself. But she had overcome even the thought of that, by employing subtle shading differentiation.

Her ballets were of the latest design out of Rome. The squared-off toes ends on which the wearer, pretty Biankiss, stood, only embraced four toes of each foot. Biankiss’ big toes protruded, naked but for mauve toenail varnish. Her stockings were purposely ‘holed’ to take account of this.

But, back to the new style of kid leather ballets Biankiss wore; her big toes were those she had primarily to stand upon. Her shoes curled her other toes out of the way, so that she stood and walked on four toes curled painfully backwards within her ballets and her bare big toes bent painfully forward. Pain and fashion are so often bedfellows. And this was very painful for her.

Biankiss’ dress was sleeveless, and her lovely arms and hands were consequently bare. And, as she stood, she held her hands up at bosom cleavage height, with their palms and closed fingers held flat together as if she were praying.

That was because she wore ‘butterfly cuffs. She had tight gold rings on her thumbs mid-thumb, with a half-inch golden chain linking them. Her ‘butterfly cuffs’ were the reason, when not carrying anything, she walked with her hands held in submissive prayer to her husband-girl Dora. When she expressed her adorable self, Biankiss’ hands’ essential inseparability made her flutter them like pretty butterfly wings.

Biankiss, of course, wore through the septum of her nose, her gold wedding ring. This had been welded closed, after her nose had been pierced on the morning of the day of her wedding to Dora.

All in all, Biankiss’ dress and appearance were for achieving what Dora adored her wife should do. Biankiss turned the head of the girls in the street. She was a bewitching beauty, carrying out her wifely duty to be a devastating doll.

‘Please let me buy a round of drinks’ Dora insisted, ‘I’ve just had my annual bonus.’

‘Sweetness: please go to the bar and order...... will it be the usual?’ Dora looked around and her companions nodded that ‘the usual’ was fine; ‘Sandra and Pauline’s usual girl-pee-white wine, one for me too, whatever Marina would like when you ask her at the bar; and you may have a glass of water if you so choose.’

‘One moment sweetheart’, at this caution, Dora stood and released the clip at the end of the leather leash by which she had led Biankiss on the walk from Dora’s apartment to the Dolly Damsel.

Biankiss wore a leash thus whenever she was out of the house. Now she was married, permission for her to go out alone was in Dora’s sole power, and Dora had not granted authority for such, yet.

Dora unhitched the leash by dethatching its clip from the strong gold-coloured sealed circular ring just outside of Biankiss’ sweet lips; a ring that Biankiss wore, linked to a further sealed oblong ring that passed through the broad-flanged grommet driven into the middle of her tongue.

Biankiss then wiggled obediently to the bar in her ballets on her tortured toes, seeking to be served by the other friend of Dora, Sandra, Pamela, and Biankiss too: the red haired Marina.

Biankiss’ steps were, of course, restricted by the tight gold rings around her big toes between her big toes’ with the two-inch-long golden hobble chain that linked these rings to form her toe-cuffs. The cuffs’ rings were high up where the toes joined the foot. The rings gripped her toes courtesy of in-facing spikes that dug into Biankiss’ flesh. These spikes performed the additional service of encouraging her to step with her big toes higher off the ground.

That her other toes were curled back on themselves within her ballets and thus very painful to put even her delightfully delicious perfect poundage down upon, was further incentive for her to walk on her big toes alone, as far as possible, and despite how painful that too was.

‘Hi Kissy! Long time no see angel. You are looking absolutely gorgeous! Marriage is clearly suiting you! And Dora too of course’, Marina greeted as Biankiss finally completed her erotic struggle to the bar.

‘Way why wav fwee gwirl-pwee wipe wines, and a gwas of wawer pwease Mawina….. And Worwa wed for woo to wav a wink on wer, worselth pwease’, Biankiss requested and informed in the sweetest of lisps she had acquired since her tongue had been pierced and fitted with the huge linked obedience rings, the circled one of which even now protruded beyond her lips.

‘Of course precious!’ Marina assured.

‘Way why wav wem on a way, woo welp we wawwy wem pwease!’ Biankiss added as an afterthought of the obvious knowledge that a tray was necessitated by her ‘butterfly cuffs’.

‘It’s a hot day Kissy! Marina observed, using the absent-minded pleasantry deployed by all barmaids, more usually with strangers, as their customer’s order they pour.

‘You’re dressed to keep cool though. What a lovely outfit!’

‘Wank woo!’ Biankiss responded, and instantly blushed at the offer to masturbate lovely redheaded Marina, her enforced lisp had obliged her to utter, and then giggled goldenly prettily and sweetly helplessly.

‘Wow! I’d just love that sweetheart!’ Marina replied, with a laugh.

It might be wondered why Biankiss could stay friends with Marina, or, come to that, any and all of the girls she was fetching drinks for, including her wife, Dora. But Biankiss had learned her place since she had been a child at home with her mother’s husband-girl. She had been brought up ‘to know her place’. The experience she had had at the hands of Marina and her other friends, and Dora to whom she was not back then married yet; the painful and humiliating experience twelve months ago this day, was something Biankiss had been conditioned to expect.

Biankiss’ friends had just decided to have some fun with her. Biankiss had been paid for the event. She should count herself very lucky. There had been no obligation to pay her a penny.

Back in the present, on such a drainingly hot day, day-dreaming eyes looked from the table to which Biankiss was walking to return with a tray in her pretty hands, and then away, when the breeze caught Biankiss’ dress and pressed it on her momentarily, to illustrate her very feminine frontal attributes had a surprising triangularity, as against the norm of expectation of twins in the perturbing protuberances presentation present.

And the minds’ eyes of Sandra, and Pamela had taken in, not only a seductively co-ordinated movement beneath Biankiss’ A-line gown, but also a sparkle, from beneath the inadequacy of Biankiss’ hem, an inadequacy that equated with brevity and not with any shortcoming in the loveliness of the thighs it failed to cover; sparks of sparkle displayed by a shaft of sunlight from the open entrance door of the bar.

On this particular day, the sun shone a beam in the bar of the Dolly Damsel showing the dust dancing in its laser light. It could have been a spotlight for the gorgeous Biankiss. Bu it also glanced off the wedding ring in her nose, and, for some reason, off something else in a considerably lower region.

‘Thank you sweetheart!’ Dora rewarded after Biankiss had distributed the wines and come back to the table a second time, after having wiggling back to the bar to return the empty tray.

And Biankiss smiled when she saw Dora look at her face, and she stepped forward to hold her husband-girls left hand in both her hands, in absolute adoration of her wife.

‘What was that when Kissy was walking back the first time?’ Pamela enquired, making herself unclear.

‘What was what exactly Pammy?’ Dora asked.

The sun caught something under Kissy’s hem; both bar trips, but when she brought the drinks first trip back it was particularly noticeable. When I think about it, it’s happened before too, has that. It’s none of my business but....’

‘It’s just that you’re dying to know?’ Dora offered as a completion of Pamela’s sentence.

‘Well, mmm, yes. I am a nosey little girl aren’t I?’ Pamela giggled.

‘Yes you are!’ Sandra, her fiancée teasingly agreed, and all three girls with tongues free so to do, giggled in musical chorus.

And then, without any thought of first consulting Biankiss about it, Dora lifted the hem of Biankiss’ dress and Sandra and Pamela gasped loudly with astonishment.

‘It’s called an ‘Olympic’’, Dora explained, ‘...because of the rings, the five rings, gold rings in this case?

‘We had it fitted when Kissy had her nose ringed, the day of our wedding.

The rest of the scattering of lunchtime drinkers in the bar, pretended they were not really looking, but many showed their close companions they were, by checking those same companion’s faces, to see if they were also gawping...for it was not every day that you saw a girl with a cock, and Biankiss had a very beautiful and particularly large cock; a very beautiful and particularly large ‘little-girl’ as the commonplace slang had it.

The ‘Olympic’ looked dreadfully painful. One gold ring was extremely tight around the base of Biankiss’ little-girl, behind her testicles. Another was at the base of her little-girl’s shaft just in front of her testicles. Between these two brutally tight rings, ran a golden chain tensioned very tightly and thus dividing Biankiss’ balls. Even then, each of Biankiss’ testicles was ringed, such that its ‘ball’ was cruelly isolated.

And she also wore an extremely tight ring just below the head of her exceptionally swollenly-erect penis. From an integral tiny but strong ‘hoop’ at the top of the latter ring, a golden chain disappeared upwards into Biankiss’ dress.

‘All the Olympic rings are multi-spiked on their insides. After all, we wouldn’t want any slippage would we? And we’ve had your nipples pierced and ringed too, haven’t we darling?’ Dora added rhetorically, ‘That’s where the chain leading up into her dress from the ring on her little-girl, the one just below her little-girl’s head, runs to. It divides eventually, and each of the two chains from thereon goes to a nipple ring. So when my darling wifey walks, and her wonderful titties swing and sway, her titties’ natural movements make her little-girl dance, don’t they darling? And that teases your little-girl wickedly, doesn’t it sweetness?’

‘Since her Olympic was fitted at our marriage, Biankiss is in the eleventh...well, very nearly the twelfth thinking about it.....Yes pretty well the twelfth month of a continuous erection. And it hurts you very much doesn’t it darling?’ Dora said on behalf of Biankiss, who merely squeezed Dora’s hand to confirm her hopelessly besotted love.

Dora’s friends looked at each other with utter astonishment in their visages, and then looked at Biankiss to see her reaction to the revelation of her savage suffering. But Biankiss only had eyes for Dora, and she neither returned nor even seemingly noticed the soothing sympathy in their enquiring eyes.
........................

Some six months later, at Dora’s home, Biankiss waited upon Dora’s guests: long-time friends, Sandra, Pamela, Marina; plus old acquaintances Aimee, and Kasandra; and Chamita, the landlady of the Dolly Damsel.

For their enjoyment, Dora had ordered Biankiss to wait upon them naked. Naked that is, except for white tiptoe-top-walk ballet shoes with her four smaller toes curled under cramped, and her big toes exposed bare, ringed, and the rings linked by a half-inch long; a mere half-inch long, hobble-chain; oh and of course, Biankiss’ Olympic on her little-girl.

As Biankiss, with her legs looking particularly beautiful, dutifully totty-toddle-wiggled on highest tiptoe on her bare big toes, with tiny steps in her half-inch hobble chain, about all the errands her husband-girl, Dora, ordered of her, fetching and carrying drinks, delivered with very leggy curtseys, the guests watched fascinated, the effect from Biankiss’ penis’ head being chained to her nipple rings, causing the natural swing of Biankiss’ breasts when she walked, to tease her, as evidenced by the consequential swaying and bobbing of Biankiss’ hugely erect little-girl.

Despite Dora’s much earlier confirmation to some among them, that Biankiss’ tits were definitely the culprits in the tormenting, this was the highly erotic confirmation they had longed to see, being demonstrated so openly.

And to further tease Biankiss’ little-girl, on this occasion Dora had added a chain to the arrangement. The extra chain ran from the rings through Biankiss’ tongue to the rings in her nipples. So now, not only did the swing and bob of Biankiss’ tits tease her little-girl, but so too also did any movement of Biankiss’ head, and even of Biankiss’ tongue when she was given permission to speak.

Marina, had not seen Biankiss’ Olympic before, or therefore the way the calculatedly sized cruel rings bit into the base of her cock behind and in front of her testicles divided and ruled-over her widely separated and ring-strangled testicles, let alone the chain from the also calculatedly sized ring just below Biankiss’ little-girl’s head to Biankiss’ nipple rings.

Biankiss’ little-girl was extremely erect. She had nine-inches, at minimum, of a very grown-up little-girl, pointing toward the corner where a wall joins a ceiling, with, because of its strangulation, a dark red to purple head poking from her foreskin.

And her little-girl was clearly under great stress. All but as rigid as rigour mortis, her lattice-work of fine filigree, and more especially her defiant bolder veins, stood out painful-looking proudly.

Her testicles were divided and ruled over by the taut chain that ran between the two cock-base rings, and were clearly delineated in her scrotum sack, because they were stretching that sack; and because they were quarantined in each testicle by the extremely tight circular gold rings pushing them to her scrotum’s furthest and lowest extremity, permitting them no movement whatsoever.

Astonished at the magnificent beauty of this, but also suddenly sympathetic to the girl she always called ‘Kissy’ and regarded as her friend, even though she had led the public punishment of Biankiss’ little-girl at the Dolly Damsel some while back now, Marina mused aloud: ‘God! How much must that hurt?!’

‘Eighteen months’ worth’, Dora giggled.

‘Oh my good god!! Kissy has had a hard-on, a continuous erection, for eighteen months?!!!’

‘Yes; haven’t you darling!’ Dora clearly enjoyed reminding.

‘Oh dear god, that must be excruciating!!’

‘Well, I can certainly testify that peeing is hell for her’, Dora laughed.

‘It must be great for you in bed though...when you and Kissy make love’, Marina slyly added, her phrasing meant to hide her overwhelming curiosity.

This being the same question several other girls present had long since wished they’d dared ask, they tried to appear disinterested in the answer, as if they already knew what the answer must and would be.

But they were to be even further astonished as the answer came: ‘The eighteen months obviously includes Kissy’s complete abstinence. We never..... we’ve never ever ‘made love’, as you put it. Kissy isn’t allowed any physical love; she’s had, with one absolutely hilarious exception, she’s had none of any kind whatsoever since we wed, eighteen months ago. But Kissy doesn’t mind do you darling?’, Dora teased, with a follow-up giggle.

‘Normally, here at home, we keep her hands chained behind her, except when she’s doing the household chores of course……

…..I have very trustworthy maids. I can leave it to them to organise her, oversee her; and of course to give her little-girl a good hard smacking if Kissy slacks at all....’

‘.....I have a couple of particularly trusty maids who shave her legs and her little-girl, or wax her from time to time, and bathe her twice daily in the shower. And Kissy sleeps on her back, naked, with ankles and wrists spread-eagled and chained to the distant corners of her bed.

‘We don’t need to make love, because we have an open marriage you see; Kissy and I. She likes to stand and watch, even all night long sometimes, while I make love with my girlfriend; my mistress.....don’t you precious? But we always chain your hands behind you, so, while you’re watching, you can’t play with your little-girl, don’t we eh sweetness, mmm?’

‘But would you believe that Kissy had an orgasm once; just the once. It was on the eve of the day we wed: on our wedding night?! It would have been when she accidentally saw me naked for the first time!......

…….She’d so obviously been anticipating the wedding night; the silly bitch. Her Olympic stopped her little-girl issuing seed of course.... There must be gallons of seed in your lovely balls after your eighteen months of sheer bliss since then, mustn’t there darling? None’s ever escaped yet, has it angel?.....

......Imagine that! She had a cum on the very day; the very night of our marriage, wearing her Olympic!!!....’

Dora had to stop, she was well on her way to doubling over with laughter, clutching her belly because of the pain her laughing so hard was causing in her stomach muscles, and she was helpless at the memory....

‘.......On our wedding night!!!!!’ Dora screeched all but incoherently through her laughter, as she only just managed to get this reminder out, and then just couldn’t talk. She was laughing so much; tears were running in rivers down her face, and she nearly peed her panties. Were rolling on the floor not so undignified when one had guests, she would have rolled on the floor in hopelessly helpless laughter.....

‘.....The stupid bitch was in total agony for a whole week!!!!!’ Dora screeched, and just had to extract from a nearby box, a four-deep compilation combination of paper handkerchiefs to wipe the laughter-tears from her eyes and stop her screams of memory mirth.

Even after eighteen whole months of this extreme humiliation and exceptionally painful torture of her little-girl, and even following this mocking revelation of the disastrous wedding night for poor Biankiss; Biankiss looked only the deepest adoration at Dora.

Then, even as peristaltic-like waves were still paining Dora’s stomach muscles, and Dora busy blowing her nose whilst still fighting the slowly receding bubbles of laughter, ‘What are you wanting to say, precious?’ Dora gently enquired, whilst pulling out three more fresh tissues, and handing Biankiss the soiled ones for her to dispose of; ‘You may speak....’

‘Why wuv woo Worwa!’ Biankiss desperately lisped with her chained tongue, and all the sincerity in her gentle soul, cruelly mocked by her speaking being, via-chain, communicated to her little-girl, which danced prettily with her every word as it was teased by the links to her tongue.

‘I know you do darling. I know you do...’, Dora soothed, and then blew Biankiss the sweetest of sweet kisses, before the memory of the wedding night orgasm overcame her again, and she collapsed into completely helpless laughter once more.

Hard as she now fought to banish the memory of the wedding night, waves of giggles continued to overcome Dora’s will:

‘Where...oh god I can’t stop!!......

…..Where....I’m...God stop it!!....

……I’m sorry!!....

……Where....No.....

……I must pull myself together!!....

……Oh jeese!!....

……No!.....’

.....I’m under control!!.....

…..Now where...erm!!....

…..I’m under control!! I’m under control!!....

…..Where....sign?!! Oh god!!....

…..Where....Where on here was it that you wanted me to sign, Aimee?’, Dora finally enquired, when she could, at last, see through her laughter induced tears more clearly.
........................

Some six months later, the swept-dunes of the breezeless desert evidence recent and historic perturbations. Other else the camera shows the vast emptiness. It then briefly studies the unrelenting pitiless sun. Now back to the desolation, and the vastly distant horizon, and the scorched air in the deep empty distant, shimmering akin wavering wavelets; though river rivulet nor rill wished for is truth fulfilled.

Of a sudden, we see a speck on that hazy horizon. Our eyes focus on this. It fascinates alike with a minuscule insect scurrying across the leaf of a book, displaying speed and determination without visible means of motion or apparent origin or destination.

No speed applies to the horizon speck we speculate upon through the camera’s eye though. Only ‘slow’ applies to that which catches our eye. And what gradually appears has vertical more than horizontal dimension.

The camera has telescopic scope. This deployed, distance finds focus as clear as our standing there as well as here. And we see a very pretty face with eyes of ice-blue, and a head topped with a dome-crowned raffia mini-sombrero in dazzling white.

The figure comes further up beyond where the sand dips below the skyline. The face has already tolled and told that this former speck is a lone girl.

As the vision, who is a vision of loveliness and loneliness, rises to full-length in our unaided sight, we see that her A-line dress is in pure white too, that it has long sleeves, that that is far more than can be said for its hem; and, consequently, our red blood magnets our eyes on her legs. And we are not disappointed even once, let alone twice, as her shapely bare bearing bearers, in impractical white ballets digging her tiptoed toes into the dunes, bring her nearer to eyes and longing arms.

If this were not morn, this girl, the only creature visible in the world, would be from the ribcage that yielded the ever-first-girl’s name. But though our presence must confirm she could not be she, the she she is surely shows why the one that was really Eve set far Eden aflame.

As she closers still, we are astonished at the dazzling sparkle between her slender ankles. Then the dazzle ceases to defy the eye having espied what the mind would prefer denied; that we did indeed see chain on the damsel.

Her hands are behind her back, a hint that they girlacles are not in lack. An inverted triangularity of erotic motions under the front of her dress puts out hearts in commotion. What fool has concluded that with chains she can control a girl’s number-nine potion?
........................

‘That opening scene puts me in mind of the Davina Keen classic, ‘Laura of Arabia’? I ventured.

‘You’re out here to edit the rushes, Eve’, not to show off your quiz question knowledge of movies!’, a smiling Marina insisted, before she giggled charmingly and brushed my hand with hers, to show she meant no hurt.

As she moved for the exit of the tent, she gave me a wiggle, and looked back to check that her rear reward had charmed me.

‘Dora says you’re coming out with us to watch some of the filming?’

‘That’s right’, tomorrow’, I answered, not prompting Marina, who couldn’t have spotted me there, since I’d already been in the background today.

‘You do know that you mustn’t interfere, no matter what?

‘Sure: I’m just here to do the editing so Dora has a compressed product for the distribution rights’ bids on O-bey. I know my place’, I assured her.
........................

The camera lies of course; we know it does. So there were in fact a whole host of folk out there where the ‘film’ rushes showed emptiness and the lonely girl struggling over the horizon, suddenly proving there’s no complete vacuum. Hell of a job well done to sure there were no tell-tale human footprints vicinitying on the video though!

Shortly later in yesterday’s fuller takes, Biankiss came across tribesgirls herding goats.

They jabbered away in a language Biankiss obviously knew not of. Then two of them began to point at her and at something beneath her very skimpy dress which appeared to be pointing very hard back at them.

Maybe to point so forcefully is rude. But the tribesgirls were surprisingly cruel back.

Clearly hot and extremely thirsty after an hour struggling through the dunes, and with her very pretty legs, the lovely legs of a fit girl, about to give out from the strain of walking three miles on unsupportive shifting sands wearing tiptoe-topping ballets, what did the tribesgirls do? Pausing in their herding, they took bottles of water out of their all-enveloping burkas, lifted their headdresses a sufficiency to suffice, and sipped, without offering any to poor pretty Biankiss.

The two girls that had spotted something swinging excitingly enticingly in the region of Biankiss’ groin, now went over to her. And, caught between her want of human company, and her fear at these visages in sand-sweeping gowns, with their faces shrouded to just below their startlingly brown eyes, and their heads covered to just above their eyebrows, Biankiss moved to shy away, only to be tangled by the three-inch-long hobble chain between her ankles.

Jabbering in a tongue foreign to Biankiss, and having, as fellow actresses in this event, failed the hospitality for which Arabs are justly famed, the two girls whisked up the hem of Biankiss’ dress, and cried out in the international tongue called ‘astonishment’.

The discovering uncovering of Biankiss’ little-girl, was a source of amazed delight and humiliating laughter and much pointing. And Biankiss only understood the western word ‘camel’ being repeatedly discussed among the women gathered around her. That this word had been planted in the apology for a script for this movie, was not in Biankiss’ ken. Had she been able to understand any of the rest of the conversation, she would have heard this approximation to translation of it....

‘She’s gorgeous!’

‘The way her cock is ringed must be hell for her! I did not know that they also do that to the camel-girls in Europe, where she clearly comes from.

‘In England they call the cock of a camel-girl, a ‘little-girl’’

‘If you know that, do you know why this camel-girl wears such tight rings on what you say is called her ‘little-girl’? Is it, as with us, to ensure a camel-girl concentrates on her work?’

‘Why do they call a camel-girl’s cock a ‘little-girl’ when this one is so big?’

Giggles followed, while they stripped Biankiss, while, as Biankiss read it, laughing at her.

Eager hands were soon on Biankiss’ very generous apportionment of breasts, and squeezing them, and some more jabbering, and eyes expressing surprise. Then a head cowl was lifted the necessary needsworth, and lips applied to Biankiss’ left nipple taking the nipple-ring through it, into the eager mouth.

‘This Bactrian has arid humps! For so mature a camel-girl that is a surprise. Perhaps she has yet to have her humps injected.’

‘Or she has been thrown out by the tribe that reared her because she remained arid.’

‘With no milk in her humps to drink to sustain herself out here in the open, it is no wonder she looks so thirsty.’

‘The Europeans use camel-girls in races with ponygirls. They would not need to set a racing camel-girl to milk. And for a camel-girl to be milk-yielding is not so important in Europe, where it rains twenty-four hours of every day; unless of course a camel-girl is being farmed for her milk. Some say it is healthier than ox-girl milk which is the most common form of dairy cattle on European farms. It is much favoured by fashion models in Europe because it keeps them slim....’

‘Where did you learn all that? You have never been to Europe!’

‘No. But I go to the internet cafe in Hulujee and read the blogs on Europe from the websites.’

‘Let’s cut this chatter shall we ladies’, one of the elders among the Arab girls instructed. This camel-girl looks extremely thirsty. Offer her water’, she added as she passed over a plastic bottle containing a full pint of the same, with its cap unscrewed.

‘Wank woo!’ Biankiss whispered with her cruelly ringed tongue as the opened bottle was gently introduced to her lovely lips.

After that, two rope loops were loosely tied under Biankiss’ armpits. These were then linked by a single rope tied across the front of her chest and another across he back just below her neck.

Through the loops at her shoulders were inserted tent posts, and then, dangled evenly, from both loops, guy-ropes and tent pegs for ten tents. All these had hitherto been strapped to several of the goats; the more placid ones. The tribesgirls were relieved to have a camel-girl to use. Even a compliant-seeming goat could wander off with their tents and other paraphernalia.

A large goatskin sack was next tied by means of a hoop around Biankiss’ neck, with two straps at its base fastened around her slim waist.

Then the women began to disburden themselves of the blankets they used for their sleeping-over in the open on bitterly cold desert nights. They was followed by a copious quantity of the western-style water bottles they carried on their persons. The full bottles were loaded last. The ones they were presently imbibing from they retained. As good natural environmentalists they loaded Biankiss’ bag with the empty ones first.

The larger goat-skin water containers came in pairs with a strap linking each pair. Ten of these were taken from the backs of the same number of goats, and all ten, five apiece, placed even-numberedly over Biankiss’ left and right shoulders.

This just left the cooking and eating utensils and the two primus stoves with their gas bottles. The pans had strings through their handles to tether them to the rope that crossed Biankiss back, leaving their business ends dangling over her back-sack. The metal plates and cutlery were in a bag loaded into the biggest pan and kept in there by a rope tied across from one of its side lifting handles to the other.

The two gas-fuelled stoves were in canvas sacks tied to the fastening of the main sack around Biankiss’ waist, so that she had a stove-sack at the side of each thigh. Two full and one used gas cylinder, each in its own bag, were then tied to her in the same manner, before and aft of each of the stoves.

Even the supremely feminine muscularity of Biankiss’ very shapely strong legs would be challenged to extremis to merely stand with this burdening, despite that she had leaned forward to counterbalance the rearward prejudice to the distribution of what she bore. Her bare body already shone with inspiring perspiration, giving her an angelic halo in the sweltering sun.

Biankiss had recognised the purposely anglicised ‘camel’ from the conversation that had preceded. But only now did she fully realise the descriptor must have meant her.

Finally these herders gathered their goats with Biankiss at the rear of the herd, and in front of the two girls taking their turn to drive the goats and the serendipitously acquired camel-girl, as they ordered the goats to, ‘Go’, and Biankiss to, ‘Go you bitch go!!!’

‘Hulujee five miles’, the leading elder resignedly observed, amid the thwack of the camel-girl whips, the four-foot long flat leather straps, with which two herdsgirls were driving Biankiss, aiming skilfully around the front of her from behind, as years of practice had taught, and experience had proved necessity, to, with their whips, flick Biankiss’ little-girl’s testicles to urge their camel-girl on.

The bright tribesgirl so full of questions and equal of knowledge; she who was worldly and wordy from her acquaintance with the new technologies, but also respectful of the wisdom of her elders, led the way with the whip. And she had a way with the whip. And she had her way with the whip; for her companions would yield to her superior skill, borne of practice to ensure perfection in practise. And Biankiss could nought do to defend her little-girl from the skill of this little girl, who seemed so gentle among her peers, though Biankiss knew nothing of the language and could only judge by demeanour and the eyes, the lovely shining brown eyes, above the otherwise all-veiling head and body covering and shrouding drapery hiding the wholeness of these women from the view of the world for religion’s sake, and that of practicality in the searing sun of days and the cryogenic cold of nights.

Under the unbearable burden borne on her shoulders and the skilful flick of the lash aimed so skilfully at her testicles, Biankiss felt a stomach-heaving nausea, the pain from her whipping, her whipping as a camel-girl, concentrated as it was on her most sensitive parts, was achieving its aim. She was becoming solely aware of herself and thus of her condition and thus of her status and that it was lowly and that she had tumbled below humble to become the exploited animal she was now; both as burden bearer, and as sex-object being filmed for the masturbatory fantasies of the girls who would watch the finished product of this torture on their cinema screens and personal media means.

And the little girl whipped her cock. And Biankiss wondered if this was a miss by the miss, till her little-girl was tip whipped again and against all reason that it could further so in its savage Olympic ringing, it stiffened and erected massively mast as it must from the sting of such stimuli. Was this torture to take her to teetering torment? The whip caught her little-girl at its tip a third time. And now next it struck her testicles, and Biankiss stomach churned with the dull echo of the pain from this latter and return to the former form of lashing, as she struggled before the tribesgirls aglow, with her complexion haloed by perspiration in the unrelenting heat under the unyielding lash and sun, till the lash caught the tip of her little-girl yet once more and its kiss instead of sting and echo of pain through-coursing from its causation vibrating via its distended veins, seemed the sweetest sweet Biankiss had in her lovely loving lifetime ever yet secured. And it ensured, and she knew she, who could never begat issue, not being that type of girl, was about to give issue, and she closed her eyes and longed that the next lash would not be, as was unnecessary now, to further prime her testicles, but would complete the urging urgency in her cock, in her little-girl, to spring forth the seed of its love, the seed of her love, the seed sown in her heart delegated delicately to her lowly lowest lonely organ to express expressly to the world her heart.

And the absence of the lash was more urgent urge than the application. And Biankiss knew all too well the throbbing sensation and that she was going to spurt, and it hurt, oh god it hurt, and she wanted the pain and she wanted the whip again, she wanted the tip of her little-girl to be flicked again so she would and could give to the world on this open plain, the potent potential of her onanastic seed falling to the sterile sands. And the abeyance of the lash was more powerful and empowering than its application, despite her in-mind supplication for its kiss a further time to match the kiss that had stirred her and her little-girl after so many long, so many endless, so winding a desert road in her permanent erection without affection other than that of her love for her wife, Dora.

And it was Dora’s breath she felt on her cock, and it was Dora’s whisper she heard as she awoke supine bound abed in the dawn of an England morn, and it was Dora’s breathy voice that whispered, as the lovely giggle echoed that the impact of the loving kiss of the living kiss on the tip had been recorded as resulting in the desired end more than if she had kissed Biankiss on the lips, and giggled as she, as Dora did now to her wife, to her bride, to Biankiss with her ice-blue eyes open agony-wide the dream awaking from her dream of a seedcake dessert in the desert full of seed made by she asleep, who now awake, knew could never from her ring-bound little-girl forth from issue: as Dora’s soft sweet-scented hair and zephyr of breathy whisper drew across the tip in whip replication and in opposition of such application in the softness of its brushing of her cock and the lips breathy whisper to and on her cock then post kiss as, for begging Biankiss, sans seed, sans repletion, sans anything, sans everything bar agonising pain; damned as she was dammed as her little-girl was at this dawn of this day at this the new dawn of the same old dawn with her cock and balls securely severely savagely strangled, in her, in their, in her little-girl’s Olympian rings….as Dora whispered ‘Happy second anniversary, darling!!’ began for Biankiss an ever-repeating never-completing never-ending for fully an unfulfilled fortnight-long orgasm.....