Clarkson and Smithson the fear bringers.
The Isolation Chamber
The pure white silk was abundant, her four-poster splendid, the sheets impeccable pristine, the ambiance was virginal. Thinking about the Lady Flarice in pure white silk and I cavorted. On her makeup table, a silver circlet was decorated with precious gems, the dark-green robe on a soft velvet hanger, and splendid. (The shapely robe and crown were replicated from the dream.) I remembered the Lady Flarice as she had coasted down the curved marble-flight of stairs.
“Her vulva concealed in pure white silk-lace,” I sang.
Whirring, the stitching machine stimulated, I created more gowns of my imagination, and the material was soft. My fingers ached and smoothing the silky cloth, I beheld the design with narcissistic pride. Other unsubstantial gowns were suspended on the washroom rail. Clasping the décolleté and I yearned to see Lady Flarice in the flesh.
The gowns and her lingerie were much too fine for machine washing she would drip-dry the robes. Lady Flarice would keep her clothes clean and the only garments she would wear, the ones fashioned by my broad hands.
“They are surreal,” Smithson said.
He whirled to the fore, I danced with him, and my viewing-disks were glass-like.
Smithson observed his mother in a strange manner and lifting her uninjured arm out to him, Rheanna's overture was rejected.
“Smithson did you miss me?”
A doctor strode in to Rheanna and asked questions she was very formal.
“Have you emptied your bowels?” Dr. Felix asked.
“Yes I have.”
I was enthralled by the notion of her fastened to the block, she was strong, her legs sturdy, I could enjoy taking the strength from the doctor’s body, her mammary glands firm and full. Surveying more questions, as they came from the medical examiner's mouth, Rhea answered satisfactorily. Glancing the doctor smiled and she sauntered from the room.
The Lady Flarice's Abode
Pushing her bell, she opened the door warily, and I leered, relocated closer.
“I must go out so be quick,” the Lady Flarice said.
Entering the kitchen and a bottle of alcohol decorated the counter.
“I want some liquor,” I said.
The liquid a maroon color and snatching, it I sipped from the bottle, she grabbed it from me, poured a glass, she researched me suspiciously, and the Lady Flarice shivered. Thinking on my wedding robe, the pure white silk, the silver chain mail darned into it, and I was entranced beyond measure.
“What do you want?”
“I was just passing.”
The effect of the wine heady, I gazed from the window, the snow was plentiful, it whirled around her quarters, shrilling and the wind explored the fissures.
“You must go Clarkson.”
Lady Flarice had cut the visits short before it was not very important.
Caldwell hid the alcohol in the basement and he checked me harshly, I sneered.
“It is possible she will not find the liquor.”
Coming down the drive, a cab stopped, Rhea rolled down the ramp in a wheelchair, and her arm was in a sling. Reaching me, she tugged the back of my pants. I walked from her.
“I need a drink,” she said.
Going into the family farm and she searched it slowly, Rheanna found the liquor. Smithson was in the yard and we peered from the window. Smithson was situated by the fishpond he enjoyed impaling the fish with his sword. Rhea attempted to kiss me, she leaned to me, and I relocated. Jessie was in the yard as well and the shrubs prettily surrounded her. Pacing out I enfolded her in my arms and we sexed, Rhea came to us.
“Get off my guy.”
I was thrilled by the invidious display and her torment of unrequited love.
Trailing from us Rhea slipped into the room and she bent over in pain. Jessie bumbled to her.
“Leave me alone.”
Chafing her hands together and Jessie withdrew. Rhea sauntered to her father's study and I followed, she was at the desk sipping alcohol.
“You are a mess.”
“Am I offending your susceptibilities?”
“Are you inferring I have some vulnerabilities?”
“You do insist my woman-part is washed regularly and I always comply.”
“Rheanna you are way off beam.”
“If you say so,” Rheanna replied.