Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

“Oh, I think we shall have fun.” The unblinking, lacquered figure of the doll peered down, an impossible smile carved into her facade. The black and red, form fitting dress and jacket showed the perfect figure into which she had been shaped, lacking the sorts of wrinkles that one would see when draped over a softer body. Her chest did not rise nor fall, nor did her form change ever from fidgets of tedium or discomfort–stood perfectly, a model of beauty from every angle.

Her head cocked slightly to the side, an answer expected of her guest.

Cindy’s eyes flitted up to peer into the doll’s glass stare, the smile holding ungiving as the eyes glinted with some sort of cold fire. “…y…Yes, Mistress….” She tried to hold the gaze but could not, quickly dropping her head back down to the mistress’ waist, the finely chiseled white fingers there weaved together, palms resting on the hard belly, elbows out to the side.

“What would you like to wear?” Mistress Arlecchina’s head moved back the center, taking in each fumbling movement and hesitation of her new student.

“…what?”

“To shop in, dear. Come tell me. We have everything here, and…” Arlecchina’s chin lowered to peer at her coquettishly from under the doll’s lashes, “you are never allowed to be shy about making yourself the little papillon, glistening in the dark.”

“Um…eh?” The blond girl’s eyebrows pushed together, trying to press her thoughts through the glittered fog which she had been in since the white limousine had appeared, black-garbed figures bearing draped masks lined before it, leading her to the mansion in the middle of the city that morning. Futile? “Um…papy-own?”

“A butterfly.” The strange figure of the–surely masked–woman spread her painted fingers in the air over her shoulders like one spreading a bamboo fan. Shaking her head slowly, chin still lowered near to her neck, Arlecchina continued, “And I don’t think you would want me to decide for you my dear. Come, let’s see your wardrobe.”

Turning on a healed boot, the tall, lithe figure strolled across the hard wood floor of the room, entering and leaving the shadow with each click of her heals, a faint light coming in through the magnificent tinted windows covering one wall–the Betturkey city showing behind the black forms of pinnacled trees. Cindy found herself following just behind, her body moving as though in a trance, lowering her gaze further as one of the black figures opened the heavy wooden door leading to a hallway, letting them pass further into the strange dwelling.

The halls curved as they walked down them, obscuring ones vision so that she did not notice the inset doorways and windows lining the corridor until it was almost past. Darting her eyes from side to side without turning her head, the girl tried to catch sight of the goings-ons in the rooms that showed through the small sheets of glass, the dwellers inside, below, on a different floor so that she could only see their heads. And each glimpse she caught–imperfectly seen–would change from colorfully delighting her to being dark and macabre, though enticing still the same….

A door opened before them and the mistress glided inside, Cindy one step behind, seeing only the dark boots of the person who held the way open for them to pass.

“Raise your eyes.” The doll turned on a heel to again face the young woman.

Surrounding them were racks upon racks of clothing, hanging, of all colors and patterns, glistening and fluttering in a breeze that was not there, beckoning her to take and cover her body with it. She gulped, eyes flitting to the doll’s, fearing them, and looking back to the floor.

Suddenly, she felt her head being held, thick black fingers pressed up under her ear, a thumb on the other side–an inflamed heat pulsing below her jaw and along the back of her neck. From the corners of her vision she could see veins pulsing along the side of the massive fingers. The dark figure behind her rocked slightly, his shoulders shaking–tensed in restraint against some driving force within. She could feel him like a black smoke burning as a shadow behind her.

Teeth clenched, jaws shivering, she finally met the eyes of the wooden figure before her, panicked desperation filling her face, begging the woman to do…something. To save her from the black shadow.

“That clothing won’t do here, I’m afraid.” She mistress of the manor shrugged, Betturkey Giriş turning her attention to a row of clothing, running her fingers along the fabric.

Cindy felt her body moved, lifted by a massive arm so that her small frame hung before it. The pulsating thumb caressed along the corner of her jaw and then she saw the wall approach, her chest and stomach pressing against it. The black figure pressed his chest into her back, her body squeezed, rising up along the cool white wall with each of her captor’s breaths. And each exhale she could feel along the back of her neck–hot and ragged-her body sliding back down, breasts flattened. The man’s body still shook, tensed as his arms moved, his mouth approaching the back of her neck and making it feel damp with the steam of his breaths.

“Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god….” Cindy spoke to herself over and over in a hushed tone, feeling a thick finger push down either side of her pants, flattening her buttocks as the muscled arms forced the still-fastened jeans down, a faint creaking sound of stretched cloth coming to her ears a moment before she felt air touch just between her legs as her panties slid down around her thighs, hooked into the man’s dark thumbs.

Hardness…pressing, pulsing just below her muscled rear, rubbing hungrily against her thigh and pressing up against the bulge of her cheek….

“Dolf.” The mistress’ voice did not raise, still coming through with it’s sing-song lilt, but there was a cold…cold firmness in it. Cindy could feel her own heart pause a beat at the command in Arlecchina’s voice. The hardness faded.

“Pink, dear?” Strolling with a dance-like bounce to her steps, the thin figure of the doll-woman approached, one finger running along the stretched elastic of the girl’s underwear, the fingernail tracing a line along the smooth, pale skin as it presses down along the inside of one thigh, hooking the still-warm crotch of the cotton panties from below, stroking it with the nail. “Is that your favorite color?”

Cindy could do nothing but breath, her own breath hot, coming damp on the wall as she looked into the face of the fake woman from above, still pinned against the massive servant’s dark body.

Doll-like, the woman’s mouth turned down slightly at the corners. Shaking her head slightly and giving forth a slight sigh, her body bent forward slightly at the waist. Against the back of her thighs and rear, Cindy could feel the other woman’s hands moving, doing…something…and then…one hand pulling back as the other stroked down towards her knees, pulling back up and then squeezing…the wooden fingers sliding down along the back of her thighs again in a long movement. The end of something hard and warm…and flesh touched behind her thighs again.

“Hold her up for me, Dolf.” The mistress stated simply, stepping back and straightening her back again.

The black man’s hands went up, clasping into the hair at the back of her head. And as he stepped back and her body slid down, she felt the hardness press through her legs, the knobbed end touching against the furred front of her sex and continuing forward as her buttocks comes to rest against the hot abdomen of her captor, toes hanging still far above the wood paneled floor, the massive cock her seat.

He turns her to face the commanding woman, a droplet of fluid falling from the end of the veined member to sparkle on the wood.

“Bring your knees up by your chest, please.”

Unconsciously, her body obeys, hips rolling back as her thighs raise up against her stomach–the black shaft finding it’s warm way to rest between the girl’s white behind, the end of the long member swaying behind the blue denim bunched about her ankles.

Tsking to herself with a slight shake of her head, Arlecchina grasps the elastic of her guest’s underthing, bringing it over her knees to rest with the denim. “Pink, Cindy? Yes, no?”

Calmly she unties the girl’s shoes–who simply sits quietly, arms hanging at her sides, head drawn back by the thick fingers clenching at her blond mane.

“No…red.” In spite of herself, the young college student feels a different warmth beneath her legs, slight glistening forming at the edges of her clean netherlips, soon exposed as the doll slides the pants and panties free, the socks following close behind. Her knees swing out slightly…embarrassment racking her mind as her body acts on its own, disobeying, a hand coming up and stroking along the curve of her own hip as if though disbelieving it could be so slick.

“Red….”

The wooden mistress chuckles, turning with a dancer’s step to look at the racks of clothing. “This shall be fun after all!”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32