Mrs Cavendish
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Abigail's End
In the Presidential Palace, there is a dining room where only the most trustedand honoured of the dictator's guests are ever entertained. Here are the mostdecadent and opulent symbols of his power. Perhaps the most decadent and opulentsymbol of all is the white statue holding a finger-basin by the entrance.
On the wall behind the statue, in an arc over its head, the inscription reads, "Tothe twin virtues of humility and obedience." It is a naked woman, and her namewas once "Abigail".
The observant visitor might notice that she has her feet bolted to the plinth,her legs tightly pressed against one another to enable her to accommodate theshafts of metal passing through her feet. Her arms are outstretched, tied toa long, gold crossbar by chains that pass through holes in her small palms,and wrap around emblems representing the virtues inscribed on her plinth. Sincethe emblems are too large to pass through the hole, she is held firmly in placeby them.
She is nude, and every part of her is fully visible to those who want tolook. Her beautiful labia and clitoris may be examined (and touched) by anywho want a closer look, for just like a statue, there is not one hair on Abigail'sbody, except for the chestnut locks that hang down her back. Her remarkablysmooth mons veneris has been remarked upon by many. However, there is not unrestrictedaccess. In her labia minora are implanted three pairs of silver eyelets, andthese are locked together using small golden padlocks to bar any access toher vagina.
Now we come to the basin itself. Abigail's breasts have, it seems, had holesput in, just like the ones in her hands and feet, running horizontally throughthe fleshiest part. Through these tunnels is passed a metal bar with a hoopon either end. Attached to the hoops are chains from which hangs the basinitself. This is a small trough, about 4" wide (front to back) by 12" long (sideto side) by 3 inches deep, and it is filled with rose water.
When the honoured guest has thus washed his fingers ready for the meal ahead,or perhaps before he moves on to another engagement, he will wish to dry them.In Abigail's nose there is a small ring, and through it is hung a thin towel,that drapes down between her nipples. Guests may take the towel in both hands,or may choose to wipe their hands over Abigail's breasts to get dry.
When any new guest asks about Abigail, he is always told, "She is a volunteer,who immigrated from America to set an example to her countrymen. She will neverspeak a word of protest, and will always be happy to serve." It is true thatshe will not speak a word of protest, for she has been rendered unable to speakat all. Despite the President's words, it is rumoured that Abigail was oncean idealistic young woman who embarked on a lesbian affair with the President'swife while campaigning for women's equality. If that is true, then she hasclearly been taught the error of her ways.
If Abigail should ever spill any water from her basin, bend her knees evenonce during the evening, or in any other way fail to fulfil her role as washbasin,then she will have to stand where she is for another 24 hours after the lastguest has departed, and a pot of water will be balanced on her head. This willbe practice for the next time. If the pot of water should have fallen, or anymore water been spilt, during those 24 hours, then Abigail will be whippedharshly for her failure to live up to the virtues to which she is dedicated.
When the evening is over, it is time for Abigail to be packed away. She doesnot stand there all the time, but is brought out for special occasions. ThePresident's most trusted servants are given the task of removing the statue-womanto her storage place.
It is always a relief to Abigail when the servants come to remove the basin.As soon as they have touched it, they are responsible for any spillages. Thebasin is unhooked from the bar, and taken away to be cleaned and rinsed. Thenthe metal bar is retracted from Abigail's breasts, cleaned and put into a velvet-linedbox (labelled with the logo of "DeMoeira Correctional Industries, Inc.), whereall Abigail's accoutrements are stored when not in use. Out of the box comesAbigail's sleeve, washed and rinsed while she has been on duty. It is a clingingrubber garment that wraps around her torso, over her bosom and directly underher armpits. It is moulded so as to hug her tightly like a corset, pinchingher waist slightly and clasping her breasts close and constricted to her chest.It is pulled tighter yet by the servants as they fasten the buckles at theback. Then the emblems of humility and obedience are extracted from the chains,and placed in the box with the crossbar and chains. Another rubber sleeve isrevealed, and the servants pull Abigail's hands behind her back. Her handsare bolted together in the same manner as her feet are bolted to the floor.Then the sleeve is run up, over her hands and arms, right up almost to hershoulders (the rubber around her torso is always drawn even tighter than beforeas Abigail's arms are pinned ever more tightly back). This also is buckledclose.
Around Abigail's hair, along its length, are tied five elastic bands, sothat the hair hangs straight in a single column down her back. Around her throata rubber collar is placed, and it is tall, covering part of her shoulders,all of Abigail's neck and under her chin, forcing her head into an upright,almost reverent posture.
Abigail's feet are then unfastened from the floor, the nuts undone, and therubber washers that match the contours of her feet packed away. They lift Abigailfrom the bolts that are set into the floor, and place her facedown on the ground,while they slip a third sheath of rubber onto her legs. This one reaches almostto her hips, but does not cover her groin.
Once they have finished, they pour water into her mouth: always the sameamount, as instructed by their employer. Abigail swallows it all, for it isthirsty work that she has done. Then she is carried in her rubber cocoon onthe shoulders of the servants, down to the basement. There, a drawer with hername on it awaits her. It has a soft lining that is moulded to fit the formof her sleeping body, and the servants lie her on her back. Her rubber-cladarms fit neatly into the hollow provided for them, so that her blood can flowfreely. They insert a catheter to her urinary tract, the tube of which leadsto a regularly emptied receptacle. Two more tubes are placed between her lips.Sucking on one will bring a food pellet that she can chew and swallow. Theother has a teat that delivers drinking water when required There are limitedamounts of each supply. Abigail is only ever brought out of her drawer oncea day to defecate, except on those occasions when she is to be used for something.She is not only a washbasin, but has other uses. Sometimes, the President himselfwishes to have sex with her. Always she is made to kneel, forehead and forearmson the floor, while the venerated leader takes his pleasure of her. It is themost humiliating and submissive of positions, as he imprints upon her his power.
Now at last, Abigail can sleep. Nothing else will happen until tomorrow.Does she dream of her night of passion with the First Lady? Does she remembera life as a free, independent woman of America, far, far away? Nobody willtell, for she cannot.
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Author's note: Please feel free to post this story to any free site, as long as the following conditions are met. It shall not be posted to any site charging a fee for reading it, either direct or indirect (avs), the story remains fully intact, and the original author shall be credited in entirety. This story contains harsh language and scenes of a frank sexual nature and is not suitable for younger readers. Also if you are offended by Transgendered, Gay, and Lesbian themes,...
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Twitter Porn AccountsAbigail was gorgeous. Everything I ever looked for in a woman. She was a young college student, around 19-20 years old. She had long tan legs, the absolute perfect figure, long, curly blonde hair and the prettiest baby blue eyes. Only problem Abigail had was that she was married, as was I too. Abigail and John lived next door to us. John was your typical douchebag husband, my wife would notice the different girls he would sneak in and out of their house and Abigail Finally had enough. I...
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"You clatty cow," Moira cried out as she burst into the room. Quentin stared at her and she pushed him off her sister, laying out in her bed. "Yer a clatty bitch. 'E's mine." "Then fuck him," Abigail replied. "Yer just a frigid witch. Yer fuck things up for everyone." Moira grabbed Abigail's throat, and the younger girl kicked her sister away from her. "He just liked me better." "No," Quentin muttered but neither sister was listening. "'Cause I ain't fat like you."...
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"It's nice," Simon conceded as he returned to the lounge. "Just one thing missin'," he told her with a grin. "A naked Abigail." "Yeah, and on me knees with me face in ya lap..." Abigail told him with a smile. "I ain't that easy." "Well..." She looked at him and he pursed his lips. "Lisa said you wanted to run a sex school for desperate young men." The teenager laughed loudly. "Not quite," she moaned. "But ... well." She walked into the kitchen, and he followed her as...
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Hi this is not a story but i had an idea i am 21 an bisexuali love shemales and i play league of legends on eune server why dont we add each other and play and chat ;-)So you know if you like shemales or guys or you are a foot fetish lover and you play games lets add each other Please DO NOT send me friend request if you are u******e.Hi this is not a story but i had an idea i am 21 an bisexuali love shemales and i play league of legends on eune server why dont we add each other and play and...
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Abigail had felt shy about meeting her parents when she got in the house. Her mother had 'accidentally' emerged from her room heading for the bathroom just at the right moment to meet her. "Good night, love?" The smile on her daughter's face was enough answer, but; "Lovely, thanks, Mum." "'Night, then. Sleep well!" And she did ... tired, even drained, but content, dreaming of love's embrace. Thursday morning, mid-morning she was in the cafeteria with a cup of coffee in front...
"At what point shall I begin my story, your excellency?" asked Bertuccio. "Where you please," returned Monte Cristo, "since I know nothing at all of it." "I thought the Abbe Busoni had told your excellency." "Some particulars, doubtless, but that is seven or eight years ago, and I have forgotten them." "Then I can speak without fear of tiring your excellency." "Go on, M. Bertuccio; you will supply the want of the evening papers." "The story begins in 1815." "Ah," said...
Sherise was not a happy bunny. She'd thought she'd sorted Abigail, but here they were, obviously even closer than they had been, their body language proclaiming to anyone who had the eyes to see that they were intimate. What made it worse was the emotion in Abigail's expression when she looked at Sherise ... pity. She had no right to pity Sherise; just because she'd picked up one of her discards, even if Sherise had been intending to claim him back once he'd gained a proper understanding...
There was a knock on the front door of the terraced house and Abigail looked up. "Not fer me," she muttered and stared at Moira and her parents sat around the table. Moira groaned and threw her fork down on the plate, striding down the small hall and flinging open the door. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the face of her ex-boyfriend and went to close it when her put his foot in the door. "Moira, please. Ah wanna spa'k to you." She snorted. "Yer screwed that dirty bitch," she cried....
Miss Henderson was my class teacher. By far she was the hottest woman I had laid eyes on. Every boy in the class had a crush on her. If they didn’t it was cause they were probably gay. She wore clothes that gave nothing away, you could not have guessed her size, or her shape, but I dreamed of her soft breasts suffocating me, her long legs wrapped round me, her pink lips sucking mine as we kissed and her lovely buns caressed in my hands. One day I was out cycling through country lanes when I saw...
Sara Jean hadn't been waiting long when Kirk the Realtor pulled up in his BMW. The tall, immaculately groomed man practically leapt from the car, walking quickly, hand extended, all the while flashing that toothy, brilliant smile that Sara Jean was sure he practiced for hours at a time each night. "Sara... ," he purred. "Sara Jean," she mentally corrected. " ... are you excited?" he asked as he performed the old 'grip and grin'. Despite her reflexive dislike for him, she was...