Seraphima Too

Seraphima Too

(by Eve Adorer)

 

Chapter 3 – Jewel

 

Dolly in her denim, Seraphima looked indelibly incredibly edible.

 

The heat of the lights in the humidity of the day and the confined closeness of the walls of the room, made even a girl as fit as Seraphima perspire. And so her dark black complexion shone with a sheen that reflected one lovely leg on the other and one gentle breast in its twin, and vice versa in all four cases.

 

She was playing the part of a bank clerk. In the movie that was being made, the bank was going to be robbed by the notorious outlaw, ‘Sexy Red’. Teasetta was acting the part of Sexy Red.

 

With Seraphima standing en-pointe tall in ballet-shoe-style cowgirl booties, one followed the lovely legs up to the ragged-edged blue denim microskirt, and, although the eyes did not want to do ought but linger and ponder what was hidden in the shadow there, above that to the waistcoat ‘vest’, which struggled to contain the abundance of Seraphima’s bosom within its tightly buttoned sleeveless ragged-edged blue denim confines.

 

The evidence that Seraphima wore no panties, was clear as day in the full display of the full flow of her pubic hair, in twin braided twists, with ends tied in and on themselves, trailing behind her wonderful, wonderfully waving, wickedly misbehaving behind.

 

On Seraphima’s forehead was a yellow-tinted eyeshade, western movie bank clerk style.

 

As she pretended to count bank notes, in the umpteenth take of the start of her scene in the film that was being made, Seraphima tried so hard not to smile with joy at being something she had longed to be since way back: an actress.

 

“Cut!” the director called.

 

“Darling we really must not let a smile cross those lovely lips. Counting money is a serious business!” the director, an English girl rejoicing in the assumed name ‘Alene Arlene’ teased, to try and win the performance she wanted from the lovely negress.

 

“Let’s see those darling arms and those delightful fingers as you play with the money sweetheart…. And take!”, she called for the nineteenth time, so that the cameras rolled yet again.

 

Moments later came: “Cut! That’s a wrap. Time out now girls! No more than a five. I want us all back in five for the robbery scene. That one just, but just, has to be but one long take. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Seraphima, darling, that was just perfect. Relax a mo now, you’ve got your two big scenes coming”, Alene reminded.

 

As far as the first next scene went, or was to go, Seraphima had seen nothing by way of a script. That was because of Alene’s preferred modus operandi.

 

Alene was famed for bringing ‘naturalness’ to her movies. She never employed real actresses. She maintained that their training had drained them of the ability to act. An ordinary girl from the street, who had probably done no more acting than to be kissed by the leading girl in the school play, that was where true acting was to be found.

……………….

 

As they stood alone together, awaiting the preparation of the next shoot: “You know that I love you, don’t you Seraphima?” Teasetta whispered.

 

“Please….!” Seraphima sighed, as she lowered her love lanterns, closing her devil-dark eyes with a shyness she had not felt since she was a teen.

 

She then looked up into the ice-green depths of Teasetta’s signally signalling orbs, and saw that it was true.

 

“I can’t……….”, Seraphima whispered.

 

“I’ll make you”, Teasetta quietly assured, and leaned forward to kiss Seraphima, who swiftly sidestepped.

 

“If you love me, where have you been this last four years?” Seraphima sweetly teased, pleased to be so evidently adored by the flawless angel with the golden glow.

 

“Trying to forget you”, Teasetta gently smiled.

……………….

 

“Come on now darlings! Back to the set! Come on, I’ve got a deadline and so therefore do you!” Alene called, breaking the static spell.

 

Filming of the next scene began. Alene had just given the girls taking part a quick oral run down of the order of events.

 

Squatting to push bundles of dollar notes into the safe, close its door, and spin its combination-lock, Seraphima showed off a huge expanse of thigh, shining with the sheen of her sweet perspiration. Two inspiring thighs of wonderful size and equal strength were formed by her squat, and her heavy breasts emotioned motion to match her own magical movements moments after the rest of her had already moved on.

 

The safe safely locked, Seraphima, as the bank clerk she was playing, was told by her sixth and seventh senses, not to move.

 

Without daring to turn, she whispered loudly: “I ain’t lookin’ for no trouble. I’m just a bank clerk stowing the cash from the herders that just passed this here way…..”

 

Risking the very trouble she was seeking to avoid. Chancing that whoever had come up behind her was not friendly, the black wonder slowly turned. And as she turned she let out a gradually rising whistle of appreciation.

 

The complex curls that fluttered out the back of the Stetson and down to the very ground told the bank clerk that this honey, the girl stood behind with a drop on her, was a drop-dead gorgeous redhead.

 

But she didn’t get to look into the ice-green eyes and the astonishingly pretty face, till she had travelled up two legs, each longer than the Mississippi-Missouri, and far by far shapelier.

 

This girl wore heelless brown leather cowgirl booties, with wheel-spurs. She therefore stood on permanent tiptoe, and oh girl did it do great shakes for her legs.

 

She was as white as if she’d never seen the sun since the day she was born, and her translucent complexion looked softer than even rose petals.

 

Apart from the Stetson and the booties, the honey wore only a Mexican style poncho. It left her lovely arms free, and god only knew what a beautiful view from either side.

 

Front, and back, its corners hung triangle to cover some strategic site sights. But, from where the bank clerk, Seraphima, squatted still, she could see that the titian tease, was equally genuinely auburn between her goddam wonderful thighs, as evidenced by the brilliance of the burnished-red pubic curls that tumbled in a coiled jungle-thicket to her knees, and glistened in a sunbeam as her coiled curls gently whirled and waved when the breathtaking creature merely breathed.

 

The gold-down on the honey’s forearms glistened. From where the bank clerk squatted, she spotted the heavy weapon on this gorgeous creature’s left thigh. It was still in its holster, the holster being strapped, top the thigh near her crutch, and also just above her knee. The butt of its handle faced forward.

 

“See you’re packin’ a long-barrel”, the Nubian bank-teller, Seraphima, muttered nervously.

 

“Reckon so”, came the relaxed answer, with a decidedly horny husky kitteness to its utterance, and a clearly English accent.

 

The bank clerk re-thought her introductory remark. Whether this gungirl was an outlaw or a good guy, the squatting teller wanted up and out of where she was at.

 

“Don’t think I heard your name”, she tried, desperately.

 

“Don’t reckon I told it”, came the cool calm answer.

 

The roles now changed, with the ghost-white leggy redhead assuming the questioner’s part: “Just how many was in the heard they just drove outta town?”

 

“Some twelve-hundred head of brunettes, two-hundred or so of blondes, one-hundred-fifty of redheads, and some fifty negresses….”, the teller replied, proud of her part in making safe the money of the cowgirls riding ponygirl drive, till they came back to Tumbleweed to spend it on cheap girl-pee, and even cheaper girls.

 

“Maybe they could use an extra gun. if’n you ride out after them and leave this here fine institution in my safekeeping”, the spectral redhead mused, in a husky stage whisper. “Afore you go though, mind you leave me the combo for that there steel-slam of course…”

 

The teller’s eighth and ninth senses now told her this was her only chance to change the order of things. She didn’t like squatting in seeming subservience, even to this astonishingly lovely stranger.

 

In a split second she had risen, ripped her gun out, and was facing the gorgeous redhead; or would have been save that in an even more split second, a bullwhip had wrapped around her wrist and wrenched it so hard aside as to leave her six-shoot somersaulting over and over on the floor, before the whip had nextly wound around her neck to half choke her.

 

“I just knew it. You’re…you’re Sexy Red”, the teller croaked, as she was throttled to a pretended faint.

 

“Cut!” Alene called. “Cut!” Girls that was just terrific? Now give me some of that in the next scene. You’ve got it read-up Teasetta my golden angel. Now lets go before we lose the momentum here! Roll it….! I said Roll it….!!”

 

To the next scene, Seraphima was a complete stranger. She had been given no notes on this one at all.

 

She began supine on the bank’s floor, coming slowly around from her well-acted faint.

 

“You gonna tell us the combo honey, or do we gotta get it the hard way?” Teasetta, as ‘Sexy Red’, hissed.

 

“I don’t know the combination!” Seraphima answered entirely truthfully.

 

Sexy Red nodded, and her pretty companions clawed and pawed at Seraphima's skimpy clothing, till the sound of a skirt being ripped and the snap and flying of buttons, told the truth, that she was being brutally stripped.

 

It was not in the intended outline script, that the shear beauty of Seraphima's twenty-five-year-old’s fit and supremely feminine body would cause the bandits to feel the awe they now showed, as the scene slowed, but….

 

……..Then: “String her up!” Sexy Red called.

 

Moments later, Seraphima found herself with her toes struggling to reach the floor, as she hung from a roof beam by her wrists, with only her pubic hair touching, and thus making profound the ground, Seraphima longed to reach to relieve the stress in her arms and shoulders.

 

Teasetta moved her lovely golden curl-surrounded and crowned face up toward Seraphima’s lowered head, as if she were about to kiss the Nubian angel, and whispered, “Tell me that you love me”.

 

Seraphima instantly shouted aloud: “No!” as if it were written in the unwritten script.

 

“Then if you won’t give us the combination freely, I guess we is gonna have ta whip it outta your lovely black hide”, Sexy Red hissed menacingly.

 

“Oh please god no!” Seraphima genuinely begged.

 

The sad whistle of the lonely bullwhip, as it begged the air to forgive it for the pain it was about to inflict, as it flicked up, and picked up inexorable speed; saw Seraphima’s long inspirationally sexy black legs, mirrored with perspiration, dancing helplessly in the clear air, as she fought to avoid the cruel embrace of the twelve-feet of supple plaited leather, that suddenly savagely curled right around her naked waist three times, blazing a path in her flesh of unbelievable fire, concluding with the ‘rattlesnake’ tip of its heavily knotted end, giving her right buttock a vicious kiss, that caused the angel to holler horrifically loudly with the terrible pain.

 

“Oh god! Oh god! No! No more!! Please no more!!” Seraphima pleaded.

 

But the wicked wild whistle whimpered and wailed banshee’s tale again, as the blacksnake’s tail wound its path through the winnowing air, air keening with the whine. And Seraphima was embraced thrice in a single trice again, of spiteful bite that tore its path in her soft complexion, and punctuated its crescendo with the slap of its impact, and the whack of the coda impacted in fact by the knotted tail-tip biting Seraphima’s beautiful buttock cheek again. And her blood flowed in a red trickle from the vicious welt the kiss of the whip just felt, smelted into her smouldering bottom: a trickling tear of crimson that soon anointed the wonder of her powerful thigh.

 

“No!! No!! No!! No!! No!! No!!!” Seraphima screamed. This was no pretence. She had not agreed to this! No girl should be whipped like this!

 

“Tell us the combo you little whore, or you can kiss your gorgeous black skin goodbye!” Sexy Red spat.

 

“I can’t!” Seraphima called. “Stop this! Oh please god stop this”, she shouted and screamed, her voice trailing off to a hoarse croak.

 

Two more withering wickedly wild whistles, signifying significantly violent visitation from blazing leather, coiled around the Nubian negress, and kissed her naked tits by turn, as she screamed and screeched.

 

And so turned was Seraphima now, two ways, as she helplessly spun from the impact, and as she was turned to a new tune. And her cries were now sighs and her “No!!” meant “More!!!”. And Seraphima cried tears of blood from her crisscross-split left nipple. And she rubbed and squeezed her sweaty thighs together, to try and finish her arousal with a cum. But her silk smooth flesh slid on the sheen with which it shone, and was so slickly lubricated that she could not attain the grip to squeeze her salaciously salivating slit, because her thunderous thighs slid off each other leaving her crying out with fearsome frustration.

 

And yet twice more beyond these, the wistful whistle of the lonely whip cried and sighed through the sad air, and cracked on Seraphima’s sweat-streaming sexually steaming body, thrashing her sweet tits down hard on her chest, as it coiled around her breast, pitiless python with bitter bite that tore her sweet skin. And after each lash, Seraphima’s brutalised breasts leaped from her chest, and flung themselves out and up in rebound, as if betrayed lovers being deserted by their cruel amore, and as if begging her cruelty for more.

 

And Seraphima was burned to sin and complete abandon to her unsurpassably fundamental feminine full-score full-flight no-fight passionate sexuality. And the whip wailed and told its tale that its tail just wanted to make love to the beautiful black rosebud. And its cry as it whistled with fearsome ferociousness through the air once more, sounded so lonely, and yet so totally brutally brisk, as it wound around the helpless dangling girl with a thrice twirl, to precisely embrace her in a ring: three rings: a tightening spiral of burning fire, as it bit every millimetre of the soft completely smooth complexion in its inexorable path, with its loudest yet ‘crack’. And it took her: it took Seraphima between her massive sweaty shining black thighs. It raped her. The knotted rattlesnake tip of the bullwhip, after ripping her petals wide apart in an instant’s instant of non-existent resistance, bit her inside with its lightening-rod kiss: a kiss as if the whip tip had, in every millimetre, one-million Piranhas armed with red-hot teeth, tearing a burning path in her supremely sensitive pink with terrible pain. It struck into her so deeply deep, the supreme majesty of its absolute savagery searing her sweet innocence.

 

And momentarily Seraphima was stung stunned. Her body went as stiff as if she had been ripped by lightening. And then, after the instant anaesthesia from a blow so dreadful that her nerve-endings were numbed: anaesthesia from the agony yet to come: a dam burst: and Seraphima screamed, and gasped and hollered, time and time again, from the savage ravage and rape of her pink, and danced devil dervish’s tango tarantella in her unbearable pain, twisting and twining and cycling her beautiful sweat-sheened legs to endure enjoying the unrelenting unrelieveable unbelievable pain of the whip rape, blind to all bar the screaming red screen that went with her screeches, a screen showing the golden wonder of the exceptionally exquisite Teasetta’s lovely loving face, as Seraphima came with a massive cum, and then, instantly, a yet more monumental cum from her massive cum.

 

Seraphima’s eyes were wild with her wanton’s abandonment to sexual fire from the flames of the kisses of the whip still burning her burnished body. Her sweat mingled with the tears of blood from the stripes that surrounded her lovely breasts and beautiful buttocks, and dripped from between the petals of her raped pod.

 

Seraphima had just known a cum from inside-out to outside-in. She had not only just cum: she had just been so wholly part of that cum, that she had been her cum. Her whole body, her whole mind, her whole holy soul had been a cum: a monumentally mountainously massive cum.

 

And Teasetta moved in close and whisper-begged: “Tell me you love me. Please tell me you love me!”

 

And in agony still, and so dazed by the extreme sexual experience she had just endured, even yet Seraphima found her love for Marina still paramount, and whispered an exhausted exalted hoarse: “No”.

 

“And….cut!” Alene Arlene called.

 

“Girls! Girls! That was just so terrific! I just adored the bits where you were demanding that the little floozy say that she loved you, Teasetta. That was a brilliant touch. Don’t know where that one came from darling, but lets have more of its like in the scenes to come: Okay!”

 

“Take a break everyone!”

 

“Seraphima love: you were just terrific.”

 

“Your part’s over now sweetheart. They find you dead in the next scene: flogged to death in fact. We use a dummy for that of course. We just need a digital photo of your stripes, so makeup can get the mock wounds on the dummy to match. Then we can let you go darling. You know where the pay office is don’t you?” Alene dismissed with a distracted acted sincerity of tone.

 

And then, she left the bleeding wounded bruised agonised and humiliated Seraphima to be photographed, taken down from where she still hung, and to make her own way home.

 

As Seraphima still dangled by her wrists, trickling with blood, she watched the pretty Alene desert her, running after the scene setters, shouting, ordering: “No! I want the gallows over on the hill there!”…….

………………

 

As Seraphima sat her agonised bleeding body to try and put her ballet-shoes on, in order to be able to wiggle home, tears of confusion welled and then poured from her loving eyes.

 

Seraphima did love Teasetta. And yet, even when the brutal whipping had made her surrender to the molten core of her deepest nature, and she had actually become her cum, she had denied Teasetta the words the golden curled angel longed to hear, as much as Seraphima had longed to say them.

 

But or and, or and or but, Seraphima loved Marina too.

 

It was surely a case of, ‘no or I go’. Marina would never ever be other than monogamous. Seraphima’s jealousy over the imagined unfaithfulness of her wife with their maid was now dispelled. Seraphima knew she had to be as true to Marina as Marina to her, or two hearts would be broken beyond their ever mending.

 

And yet Teasetta had just shown her love.

 

The whipping had clearly been intended to be intense pretence. Teasetta’s skill with the bullwhip had shown in the earlier scene where she had ripped Seraphima’s six-gun out of her hand, and then wound the whip around her neck.

 

There were no marks to show for those strokes. Yet Teasetta had been as good as her word when she had vowed that she would make Seraphima love her. The opportunity for Teasetta to make love to Seraphima with the whip for real, had clearly been what the girl with the tumbling tease of titian twirls had had in mind when she had so sworn.

 

Oh god was ever a girl so cursed that she was chased and must be chaste so? Why was the world so cruel as to deny Seraphima the heaven of Teasetta’s arms unless she were to abandon Marina’s charms?

 

Seraphima initially concluded that she had deserved the whipping. If she had so enticed Teasetta through the thoroughly exciting inviting spices of her face and body, and thus been unfaithful to Marina, her wife of four loving years, Seraphima had thoroughly deserved to be flogged as she just had been.

 

And then she finally allowed that even as her love had been tested by the fires that the whipping had released; even when her deepest animal sexuality had been unleashed and arrived unfettered in full, under the unbearable pain of the flogging, she had still been faithful to Marina.

………………

 

Seraphima winced and cried out with pain again as she rose. The blood from the wounds the black rosebud bore, had stuck her to her seat as it congealed, and she cried anew with the stab, as her rising reminded her of the multiple stripes of livid living agony with which she was still burning.

 

Seraphima could not bear the thought, let alone the reality, of donning the close-clinging saffron rubber tee-shirt and rubber mini-skirt in which she had arrived for the filming.

 

And so, though it was, as she did not realise in her depth of pain, a theft, she donned a soft white towelling robe, and rose on her softly smoothly muscular legs, and strode proudly out of the caravan in which she had changed, along to the pay office to collect her pittance, and then home, along the bank of Lake Charlotte, with the blood from her savage flogging trickling over the curves of her god-given calves, as she trailed a blaze, with her devil’s tails of plaited pubic hair sliding sidling lizard in the sand between her tiptop tiptoed feet.

………………

 

As Seraphima at last wiggled in through the patio doors of their lakeside home, Marina gasped aghast: “Oh my god! What have they done to you my angel?”

 

“Please take me to bed”, Seraphima begged.

 

“Of course, my love. Of course!”, Marina lovingly concerned as she rushed to Seraphima.

 

But the ‘take me to bed’ that Seraphima had said, was not the ‘take me to bed’ that Marina had read. And for the hours that followed, two girls knew the heights to which the highest of high loves could reach; and universes beyond; as Seraphima showed the lesson that her cruel flogging had taught her, and Marina was shocked to find that she longed to kiss and lick the blood that spilt from Seraphima’s split nipple, and tongue along her salty welts, and both girls came, and came, and again came again, as Seraphima played slave to her mistress and wife for life, as her wife licked her wounds, and two angels from heaven on earth, paid high homage to lesbian love’s full worth.

………………

 

It was a month later that: “Good morning my lady” Camilleona curtsied as she purred and pouted: a lesson in lovely lissom limbs.

 

“Good morning Camilleona” Seraphima smiled, as she swung her legs to the side of the bed, and felt for her twelve-inch-heeled mule slippers with her pretty feet.

 

“Shall Camilleona give my lady a bath?” Camilleona enquired sweetly.

 

“No thank you Camilleona”, Seraphima yawned, stretching and thus letting her breasts open the nightgown she was wearing: “I think I’ll take a shower”.

 

“As my lady wishes”, Camilleona curtsied prettily again.

 

“Has ‘Miss Marina’ already gone to work?” Seraphima enquired, unnecessarily in truth, using the nomenclature Camilleona habitually applied when referring to Seraphima’s lovely wife, and meaning by asking, to prompt Camilleona to regurgitate any messages she might otherwise have forgotten.

 

“Yes my lady. Before go, Miss Marina tell Camilleona to tell Miss Seraphima, that lady Teasetta come to call, and that she sorry too busy, so Miss Seraphima see lovely red-haired lady alone”, Camilleona smiled, pleased that she had recalled the message and managed to serve it up, in her supremely sexy English.

 

“What time?” Seraphima asked, betraying seeming anxiety.

 

“It just make eight o’ clock Miss Seraphima”, Camilleona answered with singsong brightness.

 

“No. No… I mean what time will Teasetta be calling in?”, Seraphima asked, a little crossly.

 

“Oh!!” Camilleona suddenly stamped an extremely pretty foot: “Camilleona make bath and wash Miss Marina. Camilleona do ‘er breakfast. She milk Camilleona and Camilleona give plenty milk. Camilleona ‘ave bedroom to clean and tidy, and clean shower after Miss Seraphima use. Camilleona ‘ave lunch to make even if Miss Marina say she not be ‘ome all day. And then Camilleona do dinner and Camilleona ‘ave to run around making cheese and yoghurt for lovely mistresses. And milk Camilleona ‘ave to ‘ave squeezed from ‘er titties two times more. And still they never pleased with Camilleona, no matter ‘ow ‘ard she try! Oh why you so annoyed at Camilleona when Camilleona try so ‘ard to be good girl and not get naughty bummy spanked?” Camilleona pouted as she conducted orchestra with her lovely arms, shrugged her shoulders a thousand-fold times, and danced her twin singularly shapely legs in her ballet-shoes, to emphasise her sudden fury during this mini-tirade.

 

Seraphima held up a sweet hand. “We all love you Camilleona, and you are doing a wonderful job”, she assured the Italian volcano: “I’m sorry if I was unkind”.

 

“Camilleona sorry too, Miss Seraphima”, Camilleona blushed, as she flushed with pride at the praise of her workgirlship.

 

“Please would you bath me after all Camilleona?” Seraphima skilfully coaxed.

 

“Of course my lady”, Camilleona bobbed a curtsy again.

………………

 

Once Camilleona had settled the silver coffee service and delicate bone-china on the marble-topped table between, but to the side of the four lovely legs, two white and two black, of the white and black wonders that decorated either side of it, Seraphima smiled at Camilleona and said sweetly: Thank you Camilleona. We’ll pour our own. I know how busy you are….”

 

Breaking off only momentarily from her awed stare at the shear majesty of Teasetta’s glistening glistering flame-gold hair, Camilleona curtsied.

 

Then, both the gorgeous redhead, and the no less stunning negress, appreciatively watched the progress of the egress of the lovely Italian, as she wiggled her wonder from the room.

 

Now alone, they turned and smiled nervously at each other, and the universe momentarily knew transfer of some of its stellar brilliance.

 

“I didn’t tell Marina; I mean who did it exactly. Whipped me I mean. I’ve never let her know fully about my past either. I’m not proud of it. I mean, not just my past, but my not telling Marina who beat me…..”, Seraphima said quietly.

 

Teasetta did not answer, but watched the pretty hands and arms of the stunning negress, as she poured the coffee: black for Teasetta, and white for Seraphima of course.

 

“I meant and still mean every word I said”, Teasetta answered.

 

“I know you did; and don’t doubt that you do: and I am so flattered and honoured Teasetta, like you wouldn’t believe”, Seraphima sincered.

 

“Do you forgive me for raping you with the whip?”, Teasetta asked with evident anxiety.

 

Seraphima smiled gently. “You know I do”, she answered.

 

There was then a pause, with neither girl wanting to spoil the sweetly scented silence of their adorable dual presence.

 

“Will Marina be back today, I’d love to see her again. You are an incredibly lucky girl to have such a darling for your wife, and she works so hard….” Teasetta broke in, as her eyes ran up and down Seraphima’s bold beautiful bare thighs.

 

“Have I timed it right?” she then added, out of joint with timing, judging by her tone.

 

“Marina won’t be back today, she’s signing a contract for some new girl-gondolas. The contractor is bound to take her to luncheon somewhere to celebrate and seal the deal…” Seraphima responded with her sweet negress lips describing the indescribable eroticness of their need to be kissed, and her eyes blazons of both purity and fire, searing into Teasetta’s soul.

 

“I just adore your love-hair tied in two pigtails like that”, Teasetta complimented, as she admired the two tightly woven plaits that draped floor at Seraphima’s slender ankles.

 

“And rubber suits you so. You have such a stunning figure, and the bright colours it lends itself to, are such a delight in contrast with your complexion”, Teasetta went on.

 

“You are very kind, and coming from such a lovely girl as you….”, Seraphima lowered her head in a blush, as she saved herself from giving the compliment a married woman is not aloud to say aloud, unless it be to her wife.

 

An outsider would have assumed that both girls were skirting their meaning, and that outsider would have been right.

 

“Have I timed it right?” Teasetta repeated, having seemingly to insist on the question that was not being answered in precise terms.

 

“Yes. It came on yesterday”, Seraphima answered, whilst brushing a dark curl from her heavenly face.

 

“Is it heavy?” Teasetta continued.

 

Seraphima did not answer.

 

“They say it’s the fountain of youth. I know I’m still pretty, but a girl wants to stay young. There’s nothing Transylvanian about it you know. It’s just a transfer of ‘the fountain’ from another pretty girl. ‘Hi’ magazine did a feature on it a year back. Seems all the celebs are at it”, Teasetta stated, sounding as if she were excusing herself.

 

“I got the message you left with Camilleona. You know I’m happy to oblige, just as I did when I was your maid, way back when…”, Seraphima answered, sweetly.

 

“You do promise you won’t kiss me”, Seraphima suddenly blurted: “I’d just go meltdown if you kissed me Teasetta. You must promise. I’m doing this as a favour for a friend. I’m a married girl now: a happily married girl….”

 

Teasetta sensed the tension in Seraphima’s statement and she knew both why and why.

 

“Kissing is strictly out of bounds!” she tried to joke: “No. I mean I love you so much I will do, or forbear from doing, whatever you ask me, my angel”, Teasetta concluded.

 

“It’s just that I’m so far from home, and my maid I sent off to see her girlfriend whilst I was over here. And I need…..” Teasetta’s unnecessary explanation tailed off.

 

“I thought a towel…. Perhaps on the chaise longue. An hour… I mean, there’s really no hurry, save luncheon at noon, and I must milk Camilleona just after, or the poor girl will be in dreadful pain…?” Seraphima murmured nervously.

 

“We won’t be disturbed. Camilleona is well trained. She’ll only come if I ring for her”, Seraphima gabbled in her high tension.

 

In answer, Teasetta rose from her chair, letting the inestimable treasure of her golden curls tumble silently around her ankles as she did so, smiling nervously at Seraphima, before she took her beautiful legs, and her beautiful legs took her, to the chaise, on which she arranged herself with her golden coils under her and away from her moon-white moonlight face, her coral-pink lips, and her ice-green eyes.

 

Seraphima now rose, prettier than any posey, and waltzed wonderful sway over Teasetta’s way. She then hitched up her rubber miniskirt, and reached up, unhooked, and slowly removed what she now placed face upwards, on a nearby table, before lowering her lovely body, to sit its transparent beauty squarely on Teasetta’s beautiful face.

 

As she sat on Teasetta’s face, Seraphima toyed with the curls of her hair, playing her adorable long fingers in it, in order to attempt the unintended and anyway impossible goal, of straightening just one of her curls out.

 

She sat distracted and daydreaming, her calves curved magically erotically, her gorgeous closed mouth posed in the ‘O’ of orgasm, as her monthly bleed drip-dropped to form salty sips for and into Teasetta’s eager mouth.

 

As Seraphima sat, she had parted her thighs to open her petals. Beneath her humid warmth and supremely feminine aroma, a dream-girl’s tongue, longing to lick, but obedient to the promise not to kiss, curled into an eager channel to catch and sip draculianly, the beauty and eternal-youth assuring bright red drips of the monthly bleed from the dark black rose.

[to be continued]