Seraphima Too

Seraphima Too

(by Eve Adorer)

 

Chapter 2 – Drool

 

Day-to-day routine for Marina, was in the running of the girl-gondola hire business her family had owned for over thirty years now.

 

Pleasure was a major business in Senabre. Tourists from the Americas and Europe flocked to flop by the inland lakes, enjoying the mix of sun, and the sin of having the lovely Senabran women at their beck and call.

 

Senabre numbered white, black, and mixed beauties among its nearly all-girl population.

 

The plethora of girls in the country seemed to be accounted for by nature’s decision that the only way to bejewel such a heavenly nation, was to bespeckle it with god’s finest of her finest creations.

 

However, it was speculated that, in truth, there was a darker side to this development.

 

Within the Senabran tribes, girl babies had always been regarded with the joy that was never felt to the same degree for a boy; or so it was said. It was rumoured that infanticide had therefore been practiced, to weed out boys.

 

Nothing was ever proven by the historians, anthropologists, or archaeologists however. So, the conclusion ultimately drawn, was that the fact that births of girls in Senabre, outstripped boys by a factor of nine in every ten, was a serendipitous wonder.

 

Nobody was complaining. Senabran girls, black, white, and mixed, were sensationally lovely. White, black, and mixed, they were distinctly distinguished by their incalculably complex rippling usually dark black curls, matched on head by muff, and on muff by head.

 

Perhaps, quite literally, the highest beauties in the land, were the girls of the Petian Tribe. These statuesque wonders grew to a willow-wand six feet and more in height, with a holy proportionate length of those six feet, being supplied by wholly superb legs.

 

As well as their distinctive distinguishing height, the raven-black haired Nubian complexioned Petian girls also, mostly, had ravishing riveting startling ruby red eyes.

 

No Senabran politician worth her want of votes, was ever to be seen without a Petian mistress in tow by her lovely hand. It was said that the Petian beauties ruled Senabre from the government’s bedrooms.

 

The one exception was the Senabran president, herself a Petian, whose wife was an adorable bubbly smiling Georgettian tribesgirl, like Seraphima’s wife, Marina Ntebeli.

 

Marina knew her marketing too. From and for being able to boast that she only employed Petian tribesgirls as the outboard motors on her girl-gondolas, she had doubled the turnover of her boat-hire business, and bought out many rivals.

………………

 

Seraphima felt some frustration.

 

She loved Marina to distraction, but was bored by being Marina’s trophy wife.

 

Of course she adored being adored, and nor did she mind wearing the close-contour clinging rubber shirts and skirts that Marina had lately taken a passion for, as fashion had whimmed that way of a sudden.

 

To see, indeed for Seraphima herself to see, Seraphima’s exceptional curves filling out to its ultimate attainment, the condom-close cling of a rubber bustier, with its separate capacious cups for Seraphima’s copious breasts, and her bottom rise and fall and swing its thing in the thin close cling of a rubber micro-skirt, was to witness a living organism, organised as a walking orgasm.

 

The colours too, were dazzling, and chosen to contrast with Seraphima's incomparable dark chocolate. Her en-pointe booties were also these days of brightly coloured rubber. Bare-legged, Seraphima glowed with her horny black beauty, as she played housewife for the little smiling love on legs that was Marina, her darling wife.

………………

 

Today, the rubber was parakeet-green, skirt and top. The top, a rubber tee-shirt was being given two very promising, equally prominent, prominences, by Seraphima’s profoundly protuberant breasts pushing its material materially out, to precede her motion as she swayed her delightful way, to arrive at any destination she chose to go forwards to, at least a seeming two seconds before the rest of her steaming body.

 

Her lower quarters, two half-moons aglow and ago, filled a close-clinging rubber micro-skirt, that her natural walking wave seemed to be trying to shake off with the rise and fall of her two rotund hillocks, with such rock and roll did she decorate even the merest gentle stroll.

 

At her wife’s express desire, Seraphima never wore panties, and would either have her pubic hair wrapped as enrapturing garters around her stupendous thighs, or else, as now, let it trail its six-feet of dark-brown twisting ringlets, as an erotic tail, dangling down long luscious and luxuriantly, from the slit between her long luscious and luxuriant legs, to weave and weft its silent glide behind her, waving wonderfully wandering abaft, as she angelled her way, tiptop tiptoe in her ballectic shoes, with her torsion-tensioned legs, a caress of curves, and with her peacock’s tail sliding and snaking side-to-side, as she swayed her way, her deep-seated, never-sated, clearly stated girlness, unmissably unmistakeably to portray.

………………

 

As Seraphima entered the kitchen, to inspect Camilleona’s progress with the luncheon, Camilleona turned, smiled genuinely sweetly, and curtsied. A wonder of wonderful legs, that was accompanied by her sexy: “’Ello my lady”.

 

“Good morning Camilleona. You do look pretty today!”, Seraphima let slip as she looked at the Italian maid, who might have been made for the black silk maid’s outfit she displayed within, with her tits splayed, and her long legs made longer seeming my the black seamed stockings her suspenders held high on her dream legs.

 

“Oh! Thank you so my lady!” Camilleona blushed, as she curtsied once more, and once more flashed the devil-black thong in which the seat of her longing belonged: her thong filled with the thrilling lips, that so eloquently spoke of love in their composed closed silence, as she dipped her curvy legs in her obedient little wowing wooing bow.

 

“When you’re ready” Seraphima gently insisted, trying to recover from her mistake of flattering the ever-high-octane-fuelled Italian wench.

 

“When Miss Marina go work, she call tell Camilleona to be sure tell Miss Seraphima not she forget post mail, Miss Marina leave in office”, Camilleona pouted as she undid the laces that criss-crossed her dress’ bib, and thus her bosom.

 

Seraphima reached under a table, lifted up a bright shining stainless-steel bucket, and put it on the tabletop.

 

After Camilleona had undone the last of the laces of her bib, with the dextrous dainty fingers of her doll-sized hands, she next worked the puff-sleeves of her maid’s dress off her fragile shoulders.

 

“Did Miss Marina not tell you to post the mail yourself then Camilleona?” Seraphima innocently asked.

 

“Oh Miss Seraphima! ‘Ow you make Camilleona naughty with your question! Camilleona pass message Camilleona told pass, and now you make Camilleona seem she need her bummy spanked for being not behave like good girl. Camilleona try so ‘ard to be good for you and Miss Marina, and ‘ow not nice it be that poor Camilleona word told lie when she not lie ever on her honour and ‘ope she die if she be naughty girl….” Camilleona puffed and pouted as her hair-trigger passion instantly poured out.

 

Camilleona had now stripped to her waist, the top of her maid’s dress bouncing on her beautiful full bottom, as she stood thus half-undressed, with her legs stressed into sweet swerves by her pinpoint stance in her black kid-leather ballet shoes.

 

Seraphima passed the Italian firebrand a bright red ribbon, and watched the lifting and shifting of Camilleona’s heavy bare chest, as the olive-brown wonder, tied her dark-brown hair so it could not wander, even as her heavy tits did just that, wonderfully.

 

At a gentle nod from Seraphima, Camilleona tottered on her temptingly torsioned legs over to the table, to face Seraphima across it, and then leaned forward over the readied bucket, with her doll’s hands clasped behind her back.

 

As she took a firm but gentle grip of the bases of Camilleona’s dangling tits, and began to squeeze them in alternating turn, with a steady rhythm: “I apologise”, Seraphima affirmed.

 

“I sorry too” Camilleona pouted with a sexy sulk, as Seraphima worked her tits left and then right, and left and then right, by turn, making the sweet white milk spurt from Camilleona’s coral-pink nipples, and trickle down the insides of the bucket where it had splashed with a mild metallic clash, after each squeeze.

 

“Camilleona really try ‘ard she be good girl for you and Miss Marina”, Camilleona muttered on, still alight with the slight she had felt like a disproportionate sting, as ever, when her message had been questioned.

 

For just a moment or two, the impassioned Camilleona was semi-silent, and all that was heard was the bubbling in the bottom of the bucket as it slowly filled, because the white jets being squeezed from Camilleona’s tits were now troubling and bubbling the creamy lactation with which the bucket was slowly filling.

 

“I did say I was sorry”, the usually placid Seraphima found herself saying almost angrily, as Camilleona muttered on like a pre-storm thunder rumble.

 

The silence between the two girls fell again, and the air was filled only with the sound of Camilleona being milked, and the jets from her nipples causing twin spaced splashes in the now half-filled bucket.

 

“’Ow my mistress Marina and my mistress Seraphima like Camilleona’s wine, now Camilleona only eat fresh fruit and much grape?” Camilleona enquired, as a peace offering, whilst she bent over still, still having her beautiful tits milked.

 

“You know your wine is impeccable”, Seraphima confirmed, pausing momentarily from her tugging of Camilleona’s tits, before getting back to the steady milking of her maid.

 

Camilleona visibly blushed with pride.

 

“Not only is your wine wonderful, but I’m sure your milk yield is going up”, Seraphima ruminated aloud, as she found the fountains from Camilleona’s tits just beginning to give out.

 

Camilleona rose with white droplets turning to trickles running under her breasts.

 

“I think we are going to have to milk you three times a day from now on”, Seraphima affirmed, as Camilleona wiped her nipples, and began to put her dress’ top back on.

 

“Yes my lady”, Camilleona pertly smouldered, as her legs shouted for hands to explore them, and her fore lips, and her four lips, parted for another girl to kiss and adore them, when she curtsied once more.

 

The three-quarter-filled bucket of creamy milk was for Camilleona to sort. She would container it and refrigerate it; at least that she would not use in her other role as chef.

 

Finished her chore, Seraphima wiped her hands, and then wiggled out of the kitchen, waving her parakeet-green rubber-clad bare bum, like a semaphore for being made a whore, as her snake of cunt-curls swept the floor aft of her before, and her tits proudly appointed the way she must essay her inestimable assay.

………………

 

Perhaps pretty Seraphima had too much time to imagine.

 

He ears pricked up every time she heard her wife utter “Camilleona”.

 

Seraphima was suspicious and jealous, even if she had no, if indeed she had no cause to be.

 

As she wiggled in her clinging rubber tee-shirt and tight-tight rubber micro-dress to the local mailbox with the letters, holding her pubic tress-tail over her left arm so it may not drag in the dust, and letting her long strong legs show their completely compelling curvature: passing schoolgirls wolf-whistled, and Seraphima blew them a kiss, so that they fell into enraptured golden giggles.

 

She then again fell into reverie as she strolled and her side-dimpled bum dipped and switched.

 

When Seraphima had milked Camilleona earlier, there had been no trouble.

 

The maid had bared her handsome chest and bent with her titties dangled over and into the bucket for the first of her hitherto twice-daily milkings, chattering away inconsequentially.

 

As Seraphima had pressed Camilleona’s swollen tits in her gentle fists at their bases, then used a pulling down squeezing motion that caused the Italian angel’s fresh white cream to squirt in strong jets from her coral-pink nipples, and trickle down the side of the shiny bucket, Camilleona had merely enquired if her week-long diet of white grapes had suitably subtlety flavoured her pee.

 

Seraphima had milked each tit in alternate turn, working up a steady rhythm to encourage the girl’s milk to flow, and Camilleona’s milk had shot out in long white jets.

 

This regular milking kept Camilleona producing, and Camilleona would make the finest of aromatic cheeses with her milk and pee, as well as serving her fresh pee as chilled wine for all her mistress’s evening meals.

 

The mention in her gentle mind of Camilleona and Marina in the same breath as it were, stirred strange passions in Seraphima.

 

The brown-eyed wonder was strangely visited by ‘the green-eyed monster’. Jealousy, and endless hours in which to indulge it, had for some time now fuelled Seraphima’s thoughts.

 

In truth, her wife was too busy to be indulging an affair with the maid, but to Seraphima’s thinking, that only said that Marina was indulging in sex when the opportunity did allow, like when Camilleona gave Marina her bath in the mornings.

 

And was there not an extra-sexy sigh in the succulent voice of Camilleona when she uttered ‘Marina’? Did she not accent that word with scented accentuation in the way she sweetly rolled the centre ‘R’?

 

Seraphima had also become a student of the looks exchanged between Marina and the maid. And there was the way Marina took Camilleona’s hands to calm her when Camilleona was, as ever, ablaze…..

…………………

 

Back home, after posting the mail Marina had left a message with Camilleona about, Seraphima sat with her eyes looking at but not seeing, let alone reading, the latest edition of ‘Hi’ magazine.

 

Had Marina deliberately left the mail for Seraphima to send, because it would get Seraphima out of the house, so that Marina could slip home and give Camilleona a quick kiss?

 

The idea was ridiculous of course, but Seraphima still analysed it over and over, working out, not that it was indeed impossible, but the innumerable ways in which it might just have happened, and feeling thus more and more betrayed as she undermined her own mind.

 

Camilleona tiptop tiptoed into the room. “Camilleona so sorry. She not disturb. Camilleona come back to do dusting cobwebs later”, she purred.

 

Thinking quickly, Seraphima concluded that to have Camilleona in her sights would prevent the affair she feared was in full flow somewhere ‘out there’.

 

“That wasn’t Miss Marina out there with you just now?” Seraphima found herself asking, ridiculously.

 

“No my lady. Miss Marina go boathouse early as usual”, Camilleona answered, surprised and curious at the question.

 

“Shall Camilleona come back later Miss Seraphima?” Camilleona enquired sweetly.

 

“No. Carry on”, Seraphima responded, pondering whether or not she had indeed just heard her wife’s sweet giggles.

 

Camilleona curtsied with a full-thighed bob of her devastating body. “Thank you my lady”, she seductively sang.

 

With her long legs crossed and her six-foot long tail of pubic hair coiled at her tiptoed ballet-shoe shod feet, as she watched the maid busy around the lounge with her feather duster, like a fluttering butterfly, Seraphima continued to pretend to read ‘Hi’.

 

As Camilleona reached up on her also tiptop tiptoe stood feet, showing off the lovely muscles in her calves, the skirt of her black maid’s dress rose with a soft rustle on her black seamed nylons, revealing the full expanse of her stockinged thighs, the tops of her stockings hugging the firm flesh, the side stretches of those tops pulled high by her devil-black suspenders, the hot bare tanned skin above the stockings to where Camilleona’s legs became smoothly firmly cheeky, and the fullness with which the gusset of her deep-black thong was shaped out so that you could see the delineation of her love-lips.

 

‘Marina must have caressed those very thighs this morning, when Camilleona was bathing her!’ Seraphima sulked.

 

Camilleona bent to tickle with her feather duster under a coffee table. Seraphima, without seeming to be watching, watched as the skirt rose and showed the smooth rotundity of Camilleona’s bare bum, an enticement to excitement if ever there was a moon and a sun. And the way Camilleona’s hot crack pouched a potent pod in her thong too, was that not a deliberate invitation also to run for bedroom fun?

 

‘She does that on purpose when she knows Marina will see!’ Seraphima fumed.

 

Camilleona turned, still bending straight-legged, and her lovely breasts lolled and belled in the criss-cross laced-up bib of her dress’ top. And Seraphima saw their splendid heaviness, and the heaven of the deep valley between the huge mountains, a valley through which the eye passed only to find shadow, but through which it was possible to imagine that one could see the brunette curls on the Venus-mound of this exceptional girl.

 

‘The little whore flashes her tits at my Marina over the bath every morning just like that. And she takes Marina’s hand and puts it on a tit, whilst she bathes my loves lovely face!’ Seraphima seared.

 

Distracted and busy about her housework dusting, trying to avoid disturbing her adorable mistress, Seraphima sitting so prettily reading her magazine, suddenly Camilleona turned, startled to find the exquisite Seraphima stood right behind her.

 

“You’re having an affair!!” Seraphima sensationally screamed in flames of accusation.

 

Camilleona looked astonished. Her sapphire eyes studied the outstanding beauty of Seraphima’s face and the look of fury upon it, which Camilleona read as pent-up passion. Camilleona turned over in her mind, her understanding of what she had just heard her lovely mistress shout at her: ‘you’re having an affair’, she heard her conscious mind repeat over and over, ‘you’re having an affair’.

 

In the microseconds it took for the accusation to be turned over and turned around in the broken-English of Camilleona’s loving mind, Camilleona dropped her feather duster and lifted up her pretty arms with her lovely doll’s hands…

 

…and as she stepped forward toward Seraphima, and then stopped, because Seraphima did not seem to want to share the embrace Camilleona’s delightfully dark-down feathered forearms were offering, she cried:.….. “Oh Miss Seraphima, Camilleona love to ‘ave affair with you!”

 

Then Seraphima wiggled forward and wrapped the lovely maid in her loving arms and, as she held her and hugged her with her hands accidentally coincidentally under Camilleona’s risen dress, on Camilleona’s lovely bared bottom cried: “Oh forgive me my darling girl!”

 

And, as she held and hugged Camilleona to beg her forgiveness for accusing her of what the sweet maid was so clearly innocent, the room’s door opened and two more lovely eyes stared in with rising horror, micro-moments before Marina’s voice screamed out: “Seraphima!! How could you!!!”

…………………

 

Camilleona rushed from the room, confused, but not so confounded as not to be terrified that her future in this loving household was suddenly on the line. Surely she would be spanked and then fired, for letting herself be fondled by her mistress, and being found doing so.

 

As she left, she heard a golden giggle from the darling little Marina, who had realised she had not in fact been seeing what she had at first thought.

 

“Your face!” Marina smiled with tears of laughter starting in her startling eyes, as she looked at the repentant Seraphima, and just knew all was well with her love after all.

 

Marina’s giggles were as much from relief from the realisation that her wife was not being unfaithful in any degree, as at the look of horror and crisis that Seraphima momentarily portrayed.

 

The two lovely girls, wife and wife, embraced and kissed, and Marina found a new and increased desire evident in Seraphima, an increase Marina had hitherto assumed was not possible, such was Seraphima’s normal full-on fire.

 

Seraphima was still begging forgiveness for her wild-thinking that Marina could ever have been unfaithful. She wanted to make love there and then. She kissed and stroked the warm body of her perfectly formed wife, knowing Marina’s hot-spots and how to kindle her flame.

 

Marina, of course, knew nothing of the true cause of Seraphima’s present mindset, and assumed Seraphima’s eagerness to please, arose from the black rosebud’s guilt at being apparently found in flagrante delicto in Camilleona’s arms.

……………….

 

“Ahem”, a sweet sound came from the room’s doorway.

 

Moments later: “Ahem”, came the repeated hint.

 

“Oh my god: I forgot”, Marina giggled and smiled, just as Marina always but always smiled.

 

The two girls, wife and wife, so enraptured in love, and so wrapped in physical expression of that love, broke free, and Seraphima looked up to see that someone else had entered the room.

 

The girl that entered and entranced was her own royal fanfare. Tall, an apparent apparition, with her moonlight-white complexion, coral pink lips, ice-green eyes, freckles that divinely danced over her nose, her hourglass-make-gasp figure, stood on her long sweetly smoothly muscularly shapely legs, with her hair cascading in an avalanche of abandoned abundant bouncing dancing completely hopelessly copious cascade, from the crown of her lovely head to the heels of her en-pointe feet: an angel in a cape of inescapably inestimable sunlight glancing moonbeam dancing eye entrancing glorious rich flame red curls.

 

Marina smiled as she explained: “Seraphima. Forgive me my darling, but I had this lovely creature hire my boat as a taxicab this morning, and we got talking, and we got on so well, that I invited her to luncheon. I hope you don’t mind sweetheart”.

 

“Er… this is Teasetta. Teasetta Loveschild? Teasetta says she knows you, my love….”.

 

As the golden wonder dressed with the gilded tresses held out a ghost white hand to shake in greeting: “Hi Seraphima, so lovely to see you again”, said a husky voice with an intoned hint of a kitten wrapped in a mink rug in the way it purred.

…………………

 

Maturity had added to the golden glory that was the titian tease Teasetta. Her eyes showed a hint of lovely laughter lines at their sides, and her high cheekbones added grace to her older face, in place of the younger girl with the fullness of cheeks that went with that youth.

 

With her golden crown tumbling torrentially down, Teasetta sat opposite wife and wife at the luncheon table, as a strangely skittish and nervous Camilleona was standing ready to serve.

 

Astutely acutely intelligent, and with her sensitivity evident as ever, Marina had spotted Camilleona’s nervousness, and gave the servant her loveliest smile as she reassured: “You’re doing wonderfully well Camilleona. What a delicious spread you have given us for our delight. Everything is alright sweetheart”.

 

Camilleona instantly touched her left breast in lieu of her heart, and a smile of relieved joy was accompanied by tears starting in her passionate eyes.

 

“Pour our wine please Camilleona”, Marina smiled, hoping that by giving the maid something to do, it would stop Camilleona bursting into some fiery tirade as the punctuation of the ending of whatever cloud-cover had been making her so skittish just now before.

 

Camilleona wiggled willingly over, a twist and twine of divine legs, as she stepped one foot before the other, in a rump rotating sexy gait.

 

When she bent to pour the chilled white wine, firstly into Teasetta’s glass, so that the guest might taste and approve it, Teasetta was wowed by the bow and the full view of the gentle heavy raindrops Camilleona’s tits formed, as gracious gravity embraced them.

 

As she raised her glass and sniffed practicedly at the fruity aroma Teasetta smiled: “That’s just adorable” she affirmed. She then took a sip: “Mmm, oh gosh, that is really delish. Is it your maid’s pee?”

 

“How did you guess?” Marina smiled.

 

“Corsican or else Sicilian”, Teasetta contemplated as she took another sip. “My guess would be Sicilian Italian, rather than Corsican French”, she concluded.

 

“That’s amazing! You’re exactly right! How do you do that?”

 

“It’s nothing really” Teasetta blushed, loving the admiration of so pretty a girl as Marina.

 

“My husband John keeps a wonderful cellar. He’s taught me all I know about the different girl-pee to be found in the world.”

 

“Forgive me, for saying that your offering here is a little novice. Your maid should be fed more grapes, and grapes from her native Sicily particularly. She has obviously been consuming white grapes from La Belle France. No harm in that at all of course. The fact it momentarily threw me, and had me thinking ‘Corsica’, is my look out. It’s a truly delicious offering, and a compliment to your splendid table”, Teasetta assured.

 

Marina smiled, as ever, and nodded to Camilleona, who obediently recharged Teasetta’s glass, and then filled Marina and Seraphima’s too in turn, before lithely wiggling her superb bottom away from the table, to stand ready to be of further service.

 

In continuing pursuit of her wife’s forgiveness of the accusation of unfaithfulness, that Marina did not even know Seraphima had been accusing her of, Seraphima clung close to Marina whenever she could, and, as a symbol of her love for her love, had already gently draped the full length of her pubic hair over Marina’s lap under the table.

 

“Do help yourself Teasetta please!”, Marina sweetly insisted. “That over there, is a gorgeous red stilton made from our maid’s own milk, and streaked with her fresh menstruum. You really should try it. I’m afraid it’s a little rich for me at this time of day, I have an afternoon’s work yet to do, but it is a fabulous ending to an evening meal. Do try some… please.”

 

“You used to be flatmates”, Marina spoke out again, to break a momentary pause.

 

“Oh yes” Teasetta broke in before Seraphima might admit the wrong thing was being told as if the truth. “Seraphima and I shared a house in Spindon over in England, till John and I got married. Then she stayed on to help us pay the mortgage, didn’t you Seraphima?”

 

Seraphima nodded her delight of curls, and swept a sweet stray aside with long lithe fingers.

 

“How poor Seraph ever ended up as a slave in a coalmine… We lost touch you see”, Teasetta continued the lie, minimising the detail so as to maximise the chance the lie would not be found out.

 

“Sold as a slave and now married to such a lovely girl. Seraphima you are so so lucky!” Teasetta concluded, working a diversion into her conversational tactic.

 

“I saw Seraphima from a long distance some four years ago now, when John and I came over to Senabre on our second honeymoon. Not to speak to. I mean Seraphima had gone before I could talk to her, and was too far away for me to call…”, Teasetta explained.

 

“I’ve been so busy since. Then John said I needed a diversion, and this chance came up to come back to lovely Lake Charlotte once more. And I jumped at it. And I hoped against hope I’d find Seraph again, so we could talk about old times. And I heard talk she had married and that her wife ran a boat business: girl-gondolas for hire. And I looked out Marina during a break in my present temporary and strictly holiday work. And here I am!” Teasetta practically sang, as her eyes feasted on Seraphima’s lovely round ‘O’ and oh so kissable mouth.

 

“Teasetta was telling me that she’s starring in a Hollywood movie Cine Verity are making over here”, Marina smiled at Seraphima, in order to bring the doting Seraphima into the conversation.

 

“I wouldn’t say ‘starring’ exactly”, Teasetta blushed.

 

“You’re so right, this red stilton is absolutely… mm mmm!” she praised, as she waived a pretty hand wriggling its lovely fingers to express ecstasy.

 

“You named your part: your character earlier”, Marina queried, having forgotten the part Teasetta had said she was playing.

 

“Oh. It’s a western film. And I’m, would you believe, the evil outlaw ‘Sexy Red’?”, Teasetta all but giggled. “Can’t think why!” she added as an intended extension to the joke.

 

“But your hair is so…..”, Seraphima broke in, and then broke off, just as suddenly.

 

To try and hide that she wanted to hear the compliment completed, Teasetta took a sip of wine, and thus hid her disappointment that, despite a quick appeal with her ice-green eyes, Seraphima had lowered her own eyes and was not in contact for the vital moment, and would not add the missing word.

 

Having seen the disappointed look in Teasetta’s eyes, Marina complimented in compensation: “Your hair is really lovely Teasetta”.

 

“Thank you”, Teasetta answered, with another quick look at Seraphima, in search of the Nubian negress’ supporting affirmation, but not finding it.

 

“I was saying that I did not mind at all, and that it would do Seraphima the world of good if she wanted to do it”, Marina broke in, aware she needed to get the conversation around to a conclusion, so she could get back to her boats.

 

“Oh yes”, Teasetta recalled, as if she too had forgotten, and as if it was not the main purpose of her visit. One of our actresses fell head-over-heels in love with a Petian Tribesgirl, and who could blame her?! So there is a weansy little part, vital to completion of the movie, and in urgent need of a negress actress…. Seraphima would be just so perfect for it”.

 

And, after having been semi-silent so long during the delightful light lunch, with hardly a peck at food, or a sip of wine, Seraphima’s eyes suddenly opened wide with pleasured astonishment.

 

“Oh may I? Oh please please Marina, please let me, please!” she danced bouncing on her love-lips on her chair, and then leaning over to hug Marina and shower her with kisses, as her, Seraphima’s face was suddenly lit with endless miles of excited smiles.

 

Marina smiled her love at Seraphima: “Of course you may my angel”, she whispered, “Of course you may”.

[to be continued]