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- a series of stories -
by Eve Adorer
Woolmart Girl
Synopsis: Sometimes beauty has bounden duty.
Woolmart Girl – Part 1
Poppy Heavenslove had ambition.
Her work as a Woolmart counter girl was just a
recovery stepping-stone. In the pocket of the smart red and white
vertical-candy-stripe blouse, her youthfully full, fully firm bosom, gave
plentiful double, undivided divided interest to, she had an invitation to an
interview up at ‘the big place’, as everyone in the English coastal town of Barnmouth, styled Barnmouth
House.
Well, okay, it was not exactly an invitation. It was just an
advertisement from the ‘Jobs on Offer’ column in the ‘Barnmouth
Bugle’; but Poppy was sure she could get an interview, and why should she not
get the job?
Why the other girls at school, university, and now here at
the Woolmart store, didn’t hate Poppy, was one of
life’s mysteries.
She was an outstandingly attractive girl.
Other girls had pretty faces, but the eighteen-year-old
Poppy’s face was simply lovely. Her eyes were sulphur-gold.
Her hair a myriad of miraculous blonde curls caressing down
to the nape of her slender neck. Her lips showed the negress influence of her grandmother: sensuously full
and pouting passion-provocative. She smiled when she wasn’t giggling, and
giggled when she wasn’t smiling, and the sparkle of her lividly luminous eyes,
amid the spectral white of her freckle kissed face, showed she was genuinely
that genuine.
Other girls had shapely figures, but Poppy’s curves demanded
their own theory of geometry to define the unparalleled parabolas they
described.
In summation, full bosomed two, she had a waist that would
make a waif look obese, and a rear that, though not winning the race to fully
match the two she fored above, was superbly full and
firm, and confirmatory from its signals as she walked, with it’s competing
hemispheres waging war in waving semaphore, that this was undoubtedly a girl.
Other girls had pretty legs, but Poppy’s outran them all for
long lithe lissomness, smooth muscularity, and a proportionality of shapeliness
in swerves and curves, that were so lovely, that they caused most of the
wolf-whistles she deserved and was duly served. And nobody wolf-whistled Poppy
once; not when she went to such great lengths as to give them two such long
strong curvy causes.
She was also, oh so gentle and caring, that, were it not so
wonderfully natural, it would have seemed as false as a politician.
All the other girls loved Poppy. She was outstandingly
outstanding among them; but they were never jealous of the attention she always
got, to their shaded second and third place, because they accepted it was what
she deserved. And true too was it, that Poppy never pushed herself forward, or
forced them aside. It was just that in the bouquet, she was the most delightful
of the delicious flowers.
The Woolmart chain insisted on
uniformity of uniform. And that uniform took on new form with Poppy to fill it.
Whilst the other counter girls took on anonymity in the donning, Poppy’s smile
and charm shone so, that she spun the heads her way. She stood out from the
herd, because she was outstanding, and not only titularly.
Woolmart, the ‘dime store’ of long
ago history, had been staid in outlook since its 19th century
founding in the
The counter girls’ hemlines had risen, with a resulting
corresponding rise in sales and, one dare speculate, an equal rise in the blood
pressure, and the heart-attack count, among its customers.
With Poppy’s blouse in the Woolmart
colours, went a black poplin skirt, and seamed black
nylon stockings, supported only by ribbon-tied frilly garters, in the red and
white candy-stripe of Woolmart, to be worn at the
stocking tops.
Hemlines at no more than one inch below the buttocks, and a
directive that (1) this was compulsory, (2) that only Woolmart
issue red and white candy-stripe thong panties were to be worn, (3) that all Woolmart girls must be hygienically shaved, (4) that the
best selling goods must be located on the very bottom, or the very highest
shelves, (5) that no girl needing to bend was ever to bend at the knees, and
(6) that all stepladders and kick-stools be withdrawn from stores, had come
from the grand dame, Fredericka Wilhelmina Woolmart,
herself. The massively increased custom it generated, had saved the long
historic family firm she ran from her wheelchair, from bankruptcy.
The final threat to those with concern about heart-shock or
a stroke, had been the adoption of heelless ballet
shoes as the uniform footwear.
Poppy’s long legs were incredibly beautiful even when she
merely slouched and slummed in trainers. To extend her calves and tension her
thighs and buttocks, by making her stand and walk, permanently on top–tiptoe on
the squared-off toes, of red and white candy-stripe calf-leather balletic shoes, was to exhaust the descriptive powers of
poetry prose and music, for the compelling wonder of the wonderfully
artistically exceptionally erotic result: a result that would make the finest
portraitists throw their brushes aside, resigned to their inadequacy to portray
such shapely curves.
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
2052 was just another among the recent tough years for
girls. The supposed threat of overpopulation had been as exaggerated in the
2030s, as the danger of global warming had been in the first decade of the 21st
century.
But the inevitable outcry that government must ‘do something
about it’, had led to the choice-pill, and the financial incentives for taking
the pink pill before and during pregnancy, rather than the blue. Thus science
had made the world more beautiful, by increasing the female portion of the
population, to ninety-nine percent, and correspondingly reducing the overall
population, as women were consequently without enough sires to breed from.
Unfortunately for women, the accompanying technological
revolution had worked the opposite way. There were plenty of girls available
for the employment market, but so little work now that a machine could not do,
as, or more efficiently, and more cheaply, that there were few jobs for humans
around.
Meanwhile, oil had dripped its last drop, and only girls
were available in any number, to hew coal in the mines to provide basic energy
needs.
Poppy had been lucky. Academically she had been brilliant
with a starred double-first spinster’s degree from Fordbridge
at age thirteen, and doctorates in mathematics, and
chemistry by the age of fifteen.
But the world had no need for even such wonderfully
intelligent gifted and educated girls. The few jobs of substance were rationed.
Wealth bought and brought a position in life. Poppy’s mummy was poor. Poppy had
been lucky not to have been sent for breaking as a ponygirl,
or to pedal drive one of the huge dynamos that, these days, provided power for
the town’s homes, street lights, factories, and offices.
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
Her luck had been in the draw held at her post-doctorate
gathering. She had drawn a red and white candy-stripe straw. She rejoiced,
kissing all her fellow pupils. She knew she had won the prize her friends,
ordered into the mines, or to lactate on a milk-farm, longed for: she knew she
was going to be a Woolmart girl.
But Poppy Heavenslove had
ambition. She knew too that she must forget that she had academic attainments
of such glowing brilliance that they almost outshone her physical and facial
beauty. Her mind, with the sharpness of a razor’s razor’s
razor’s edge took her way beyond the merely beautiful
to the outstandingly stellar stunning. She was a girl in a billion.
She knew also, that she must subdue and subliminate
her sublime brilliance, to her physical sexual charms. It saddened her that her
mind must be wasted on makeup, and ensuring that her mouth was moist and
kissable, and that the seams of her stockings were straight. But these were the
main demands on a Woolmart girl.
At school and university, she had been the chair of the
National Institution for Promoting Proper Legal Equality, and, on the slope
given her twice-boldly-bulged blouse, by her fulsome firm and gentle left
breast, had worn its badge with the proud initials: “N.I.P.P.L.E.”.
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
Poppy had been, and still was, a soldierette
for the equality of all girls with each other, and the few lucky men that
society continued to allow among its sweet scented sisteren.
Poppy’s ambition had, over time since her graduation, become
as limited as the length of her skirts. Her new ambition, the arrival of which
begins her story, had begun with a customer. Customers are customary in Woolmart of course, but this day, this customer, was
clearly completely special.
She was a negress,
perhaps thirty-years-old, at least five-twelve tall, with the demeanour and the figure of a catwalk model. Feline similes
and metaphors would be to the fore in any description of the lithe glide of her
walk, and her purposeful poised, perfect peace possessed movements.
“May I be of assistance madam?” Poppy’s lovely face smiled,
without the smile being of any remark, for though it was truly remarkably
lovely, it was of no remark that she should be smiling, for Poppy was always
smiling.
The face that looked up, the face of the
tight-coil-curl-crop-topped negress,
the queenly face of a princess among women, showed a visage breathtaking in
vision.
The eyes, were deep down soulful
brown. There was a delicate flare to the nostrils. The proud lips of the small mouth,
were prayers from rather than to heaven in their poised pout, and seemed to be
shouting without speaking their kisses out. The lightly furrowed brow, as she
turned, formed part of a smile of recognition of the matching and opposite
pole, in the loveliness of Poppy, so ghostly white in contrast with the supreme
dream of the negress’ own
creamy smooth dark coffee black.
Poppy blushed. Her face flushed. This customer was not
merely exceptionally lovely; she was agonisingly
beautiful. Poppy knew right there and then that her heart and mind had fallen,
and head was over heels in the cliché metaphor that defines love.
The negress looked kindly and
gently at the Woolmart badge blazoned on Poppy’s
chest, and smiled at what she read, before she looked lightening-shafts
straight into Poppy’s pretty eyes, and thunderbolt devastation thus derived,
arrived.
“’Poppy’. What a lovely name!” the negress gently whispered, with a
hint of kindly amusement, suggestive of personal charm to match her visible
physical charms.
“Thank you madam”, Poppy gasped, as she fought and lost the
battle not to lose countenance in front of this wonderful woman: and her
blushing head hung with her chin on her chest as if in shame: the shame she had
no need for, and which it would be a shame if she truly felt the same.
“Can you be of assistance? Well yes my dear… Well yes
Poppy”, the lovely negress
teased, with her confident voice conspicuously clear contralto concerto, “I am
looking for some toys for a pet dog. Silly really. I haven’t
chosen one yet. I was thinking maybe pedigree… I’ve engaged a kennel keeper….”
Recovering her composure, despite the dampness in the crotch
of her panties, a wetness that Poppy hoped her fellow shop-girls would not see,
Poppy’s sweet arms and pretty hands signalled for the
lovely lithe negress to sway her wonder ahead, as she
led her, from behind, to a corner of the store, stocking balls, leather bones,
even pretend slippers, for dogs to chase and chew, or chew and chase.
“May I guide you this way madam? We have, as you’ll soon
see, a splendid selection of pets’ toys, including especially, and not least,
those suitable for our canine companions”, Poppy delighted, surprised at her
sudden salesgirl spiel.
A sale made, Poppy sighed aside as she watched the stunning negress waltz-walk her wiggle
outside.
“’Ere you was doin’ alright dare
Poppy me gel! I seen der way she looked at yer!!” Sarah, Poppy’s best friend at Woolmart
teased.
“You do know ‘oo dat iz don’tcha?”
she added, as she saw Poppy’s gorgeous freckle kissed face look deliciously
perplexed.
The look on Poppy’s sweet face, and the tiny crease in her
brow it was impossible not to wish to kiss away, told Sarah that Poppy was
innocent of that fact.
“Well, my darlin’ gel….It’s only
Lady Barnmouth ‘erself!”
Sarah concluded, before then smiling at the resulting look of total
astonishment on Poppy’s acutely cute countenance.
………………
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
Poppy placed the newspaper advertisement down on the corner
shelf. With the receiver at her left ear, the payphone enjoyed her right hand’s
longest finger inserted in the coil of the cable of the handset, and flexing
and twisting within it, as if enquiring exploratively
inside a cunt.
On that same hand, Poppy’s delectable little finger curved
up and flexibly back. And, whilst with her middle finger in the cable coil as
if it were a vagina, she also played the cable’s spring coil properties into
stretch and return, stretch and return, akin to as if she were playing with a
foreskin in its turn.
Unbeknown to her, Poppy’s Woolmart
uniform skirt had ridden high up her smooth thighs, and showed the base
crescents of her rear moons. Thus from the rear, in her Woolmart
issue red and white candy-stripe thong panties, her impertinently potent pubic
pouch, was patently pert purse: hidden but unmissably
unmistakably delineated, complete with the in-tuck close-closed tightness of
her labia-majora, outlined by an exciting crease in
her panties’ crotch.
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
As she waited for her call to be answered, her pudenda
petals a posy on open display bulging out her thong’s crotch, unrealised by her sweet innocence, standing sex-on-legs on
the squared-off toes of her heelless ballet shoes, she nervously played a
lovely leg back and forth, thereby describing indescribably emotion-inspiring
motions with her curvy calf muscle.
The ‘burrrp-burrrp; ‘burrrp-burrrp’’ continued continuously on the line, and
Poppy had almost decided on abandoning her quest; when a clatter told her the
handset at the receiving end was being lifted.
Poppy’s pretty mouth went dry as she heard: “Barnmouth House, Lady Barnmouth’s
residence. Miss Geeves, Lady Barnmouth’s
personal aide speaking. How may one be of assistance? One assumes one is not
talking to trade?!”
“It’s about your advertisement in the ‘Barnmouth
Bugle’…” Poppy began, before being abruptly instructed: “Will you kindly
enunciate with more vocal presence and preciseness girl!”
“It’s about your advertisement in the ‘Barnmouth
Bugle’…” Poppy repeated more boldly, yet more nervously still.
“And which adverteasemon would
that be precisely?” Miss Emelda Geeves
cold voice enquired.
“The one for a ‘maid-of-all-work’”, Poppy braved, despite
the chill of the voice from the void.
“Oh really. That
one. Oh well. One believes, one can fit you in next Tuesday at 10.00”,
Miss Geeves responded.
“You mean I have the job?!” sweet Poppy innocented,
in overreaction to her highly nervous anticipation of rejection.
“Young lady! Whomsoever you are,
one would hardly imagine you could be so dull of
intellect as not to comprehend that one was merely indicating the possibility
of an interview!” the cold Miss Geeves froze through.
“I’m so sorry”, Poppy sweetened with her pretty lips kissing
out every sincerely sincere word.
“One should hope so!” Miss Geeves
commented tartly, sharply.
“Do you know the whereabouts of Barnmouth
House?” Miss Geeves continued.
“Yes Miss Geeves”, Poppy answered,
butterflies in a dogfight in her soft flat belly.
“The servants’ quarters are clearly labelled.
Report there at 09.50 for a ten o’ clock interview. Don’t be late. What name
should one record?”
“Poppy: Poppy Heavenslove”, Poppy
answered, and, without her being able to add more than the opening of her
lovely lips to say a sweet polite delight of a ‘thank you’, the call was
abruptly cut to an end.
As she moved her hand to place the receiver at rest, Poppy’s
lucky forearm, brushed the pert right breast that was lurking alluringly, and
thus made to flirt under her blouse.
Poppy smiled. Now, too late for all she had been putting on
display to cause others dismay, she realised how high
her hem had ridden. But she did not care. The erotic mound in her panties was
in command of her. Ever since she had met Lady Barnmouth
in Woolmart that day, now two weeks since, Poppy had
schemed to find a way to get to see and talk to the stupendous negress.
Though she might only be a Woolmart
girl now, Poppy Heavenslove had ambition. She was going
to marry Lady Barnmouth. She did not even know if
Lady Barnmouth was already married. In her ingénue’s
imagination, nothing was going to get in her way. A job as a maid-of-all-work
at Barnmouth House was but an entrée.
………………
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
“Some of lady Barnmouth’s guests, may want to take you to bed. You’ll have no
objection to that, one trusts Heavenslove?”
“No Miss Geeves”, Poppy answered
blushing like a dew-dappled rose.
Poppy was an intact virgin. She was saving herself for the
right girl. Despite her brilliance and her wonderful academic attainments, her
dream, since her earlier teens, had been to meet an irresistible force, such
indeed as Lady Barnmouth, and be swept off her feet
to church, a carrying of her one-hundred-and-ten pounds of one-hundred-percent
girl over the threshold of the shared new home, and a sweet saintly sacrifice
in a first night wrestle and painful surrender in the marital bed.
Now she was being asked if she would be some complete
stranger’s whore at that stranger’s whim. And, if she wanted the job she had
schemed for as the first stepping stone on the ladder to get herself into Lady Barnmouth’s life and love and bed, she just had to say the
‘yes’ she had just said by saying ‘no’.
Miss Geeves had not, at this stage
at least, turned out to be the frozen frump she had sounded on the telephone.
Perhaps, like many people, she had a ‘telephone voice’ that misrepresented her
real self.
Poppy, wearing her Woolmart
uniform, the smartest outfit she, a poor girl poorly paid, had; had been aware,
throughout the interview, of Miss Geeves appreciative
eyes on her legs, and of those eyes clearly seeking to see if they could see
that which would undoubtedly pouch out Poppy’s no doubt tight panties.
“You are an exceptionally attractive girl Heavenslove”, Miss Geeves sincered, as Poppy’s blush rushed to the colour that surely gave her her
name. “One is certain that Lady Barnmouth will be
more than happy to have you deployed in her household”.
“Thank you Miss Geeves. Do I have
the job?” Poppy responded, with a freckle blessed face that the light of
delight made even more dreamily delicious.
“Yes. Yes of course Heavenslove”,
Miss Geeves responded, and then watched amazed as the
lovely Poppy leaped to her feet on legs longer than life, but running far more
smoothly, lissomed lithely over, and showered her in
sweet scented kisses of shear innocent joy: Poppy hugging the would be frump,
into a crumpled hump.
“Well really!!!” Miss Geeves
responded, but her tone said that her voice was expressing disgust she, in
heart, did not feel in any part.
A moments pause, allowed Miss Geeves
to recover her poise.
“We had better get you ready for service right now Heavenslove, Miss Geeves opined
in a return to her dedicated desiccated tone.
The vibrant vivacious Poppy stood ready with another sweet
embrace that Miss Geeves longed to experience; but
knew she must forego if this angel was ever to be of any use to Lady Barnmouth’s household.
Miss Geeves fought not to look at
the sparkle in the shining golden eyes of the seductive Poppy, whose lovely
face showed her overwhelming joy at having been accepted to work at Barnmouth House. Poppy’s look also showed her determination
to learn the role of a ‘maid-of-all-work’ in every single detail. She would not
disappoint. On that much Poppy was absolutely determined.
“Thank you! Oh thank you so much Miss Geeves!
You won’t regret this. I promise you won’t ever regret taking me on. I absolutely
never will let you down!” Poppy enthused with the softest sweetest sincerity,
whilst recognising that her natural urge to embrace
and kiss Miss Geeves in punctuation, was to be
restrained and refrained from.
………………
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
As she stood completely naked before Miss Geeves, in readiness for her uniform, Poppy’s lovely eyes
whispered: ‘love me’.
“My goodness girl, did god not know when or where to stop
when she made your legs? I’ve never seen longer or more luscious legs in all my
life”.
“Thank you” Poppy flushed and blushed, a girl in complete
negation of her fight for her sisters when she had organised
and led the N.I.P.P.L.E. at her school and university.
In the presence of this potently pretty pulchritudinous
posy, with her freckle deckled angel’s visage, Miss Geeves
had once again forgotten herself.
She liked her underlings to be vulnerable when she
introduced them to their place in the household. Complete nakedness was
perfect, even when the naked girl’s wonderful breasts, with their huge cone
nipples, were swaying mesmerisingly seductively.
“I brook no indiscipline among the maidery,
Heavenslove. I have dispensation from Lady Barnmouth to administer corporal punishment. At all times
when Lady Barnmouth is with us, I keep a tally of the
performance of the girls in her service. Each and every act of indiscipline
scores a black mark. And, when Lady Barnmouth has
departed, each girl receives as many lashes from the bullwhip, as she has bad
marks against her name.”
In sum, have no doubt whatsoever,
that if you are a naughty girl, you will be severely whipped!”
The sweet flush of healthy colour
drained from poor Poppy’s face as she heard this.
“Do you understand?!” Miss Geeves
demanded.
“Yes Miss Geeves”, came Poppy’s dry-mouthed whisper.
Miss Geeves then signalled Poppy to perch her pert bottom on a cool wooden
chair, and brought Poppy the stockings and shoes she was to wear.
“I see that you are hygienically shaved”, Miss Geeves observed, making Poppy blush the colour
of her pretty name once again, as she, Poppy, realised
where Miss Geeves’ eyes had just been feasting.
“Yes Miss Geeves. It has always
been Woolmart company policy….” Poppy began to
answer.
“I am not interested in ‘Woolmart
company policy’, Heavenslove!” Miss Geeves interrupted abruptly.
“I believe in the necessity for strict and complete hygiene.
But I do not believe in shaving or the use of unguents. We will impose hygiene
in the proper manner! You will let your pubic hair re-grow for the coming
fortnight, and you will then have it plucked.”
And, even as her brilliant mind imagined the excruciating
pain of having her pubic hairs individually pulled out with tweezers: “Yes Miss
Geeves”, came Poppy’s
terrified acquiescence.
The rolling on of the white sheer-nylon stockings, with
their inlaid pure gold seams leading up to the pure gold rings around the very
top of their saucy deep tops, was a seductive delight that the uncontrolled and
uncontrollable sighs, of both girl and woman, as the stocks covered the thighs,
told of the pure heaven of the shapeliness of Poppy’s strong unfathomably-long
legs.
For now, the stockings kissed the lovely legs, relying only
on their tops to grip Poppy’s thighs to hold them up, and thus failing and
falling to her knees once more, as they inevitably slid down Poppy’s
immaculately smooth soft complexion.
Now Poppy was made to sit again, and Miss Geeves took hold of Poppy’s delicate delight of a left
foot. With Poppy’s pure-girl 110 pounds converting a chair to a throne once
more, even Miss Geeves blushed at handling something
so lovely. And to watch Poppy’s left leg as her calf-muscle curved her
wonderfully, when Miss Geeves checked the flexibility
of the foot, was no betrayal of shear eroticism.
“Yes?! So?!!!!”
The shoe was amazing. It was of stainless-steel with a core
of gold through its heel and toe. And heel and toe were all but all it
consisted of.
The toe looked like a golf tee. It was six inches long,
tapering to a sewing-needle’s point. Miss Geeves put
its cup-end over Poppy’s big toe, so that it contained her stockinged
big toe, including her toenail and up to the first joint in that toe.
She then pressed the almost semicircular stainless-steel
arch of the sole of the shoe, insofar as she could, to the warm sole of Poppy’s
delightful foot within her stocking. But, not succeeding in bending Poppy’s
foot sufficiently, resorted to the fastening of a buckled black leather strap
over the mid-top of Poppy’s foot, and another broader black leather strap that
would hold the shoe to Poppy’s dainty ankle.
Alternating straps to make them tight by turn, Miss Geeves ignored Poppy’s moans of pain when her foot was
being finally murderously arched, and admired instead, the tapering stainless
steel gold-cored heel, that ran parallel with the sole of the shoe, fourteen
inches, till, just half-an-inch behind the six-inch stainless-steel and gold
toe of the shoe, where it too became as sharply sewing-needle-pointed as the
toe itself.
Repeat treatment on the right foot made Poppy’s feet replete
with the minimalist shoes, and Miss Geeves ordered
the angel to stand.
As Miss Geeves held her pretty
hands, Poppy dared to stand, and cried out with the agonising
pain, as she, wavering on her billion-mile-long legs, strong fit and athletic
though they were, teetered on the brink of toppling in tumble, as the whole
110-pounds of her pure-girlness was pressed down on
her big toes.
She stood on their six-inch tapers with an infinity of minimality of contact with the ground she made heaven
wherever she stood, and which she still blessed with her angelic wonder, as she
wobbled in her shoes and cried the gentle tears of a girl in extreme pain, with
all her weight crushing her big toes, and only the minimal of minimal relief
supplied by her fourteen-inch needle-pointed heels, so close as only to be
half-an-inch behind her toes, she was so steeply steepled
in stance.
Miss Geeves reluctantly let go of
the dainty hands and watched the remaining four each of Poppy’s sweet toes,
visibly curl up within the foot of her stockings, those toes being free of any
engagement with Poppy’s shoes, and then at the girl teetering ever on the brink
of falling as she swayed, her lovely body raised on zillion-mile-long legs,
made longer by the six-inch toes and fourteen inch heels of her stainless-steel
gold-cored tiptoe shoes.
“Stop crying girl!!” Miss Geeves
snapped commandingly, as she walked around behind
Poppy, to remove the chair, and thus ensure the angel could not sit down to
relieve her pain.
It was thus that Miss Geeves
glimpsed the pure perfection of the shape her sky-high heeled stance had given
Poppy’s incredible calves, with their strong muscles risen heaven high toward
the back of the knees, and then the double-deep-deep hollow dimples in the
sides of Poppy’s beautiful bum: dimples caused by her stance, enforced by her
fourteen-inch heels, which were causing Poppy to clench her buttocks extremely
tightly.
“My heavens girl, if ever a bottom was made by god herself…”
Miss Geeves muttered just loud enough for Poppy to
hear.
Poppy fought her tears of pain and shame, and simple
whispered in deep cruel embarrassment and the agony from her tortured big toes:
“Oh please!…”
“’Please’ what you little whore?! I expect you’re turned on
by wearing those super-high heels aren’t you, you little tart? Are you begging:
‘please slap my bum?!’ Filth like you would be into such execrable perversions
no doubt! I won’t ask, because I don’t need to ask if you always invite your
girlfriends to spank you! You’re just a fucking Woolmart
girl. You’re all the fucking same. Can’t keep your hands off
each other. Kisses, tit-sucking, and cunt-groping in the stock room at every chance no doubt.
Sluts! All of you Woolmart girls are just fucking
sluts!!”, Miss Geeves sneered with heartfelt
conviction, letting her usually excessively affected English, descend into the utterings of a woman from the same gutters from which she
was convinced girls such as Poppy came, and could never leave.
The suspender belt came next. Its white lace-like waistband
bore two side suspenders to slide down the sides of Poppy’s immensely strong
and equally beautiful thighs. As a core within it, there ran a steel hawser
with hoops at either and both of its ends.
The suspender belt rested at Poppy’s soft firm smooth belly,
with the hawser hoops temporarily tied to each other above the small of her
femininely arched back with a strong nylon rope.
In order to fasten the belt at the deepest curve of Poppy’s
shapely waist, it would be necessary to draw the two ‘eyes’ in the hawser core
together. To do that would need immense strength, or else the use of a steel
bar through the temporary tie of the nylon rope, to turn the bar, and thus
tighten the rope like a tourniquet.
Thus did Miss Geeves apply herself
as poor Poppy, tottered teetered and close-near toppled on her big toe tips,
sure she would fall, as her waist was slowly but absolutely assuredly, squeezed
down from its perfectly delightful natural twenty-two inches, to a shear mere
exact and not merely near, twelve gaspingly erotic inches.
<>
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