But Miss Gilda was short, and stocky. Her breasts were large, proportionate to her frame, and her hair was a tangled mess of orange-red that dangled d...wn to her buttocks. Staring at it, as I perhaps too often did, reminded me of an old print I once saw, by a surrealist. It was supposed to be a copy of Vermeer’s Lacemaker, but had come out as a depiction of the artist’s sister, naked, bending over and about to be penetrated by several imperial phalluses. The sublimity of the artistic moment, it. I walk down the long marble halls to my room and open the door i peer in my slaves have done a good job. Lotus and olis make my room smell so lovely and the oil lamps burn softly. There she is. She whimperes she has been trying to bite through the ropes holding her to the bed posts. I close the doors behind me i know she can see me she just will not look. She is naked except for golden bracelets that have been slipped over her pretty wrists and a gold anklets on her ankels. I smile the slaves. More

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