/lit/ - Literature

I/IV

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Against the creamy sheen of the torn tapestry of the wall, pearly marble fingers slimed themselves over helios-gold shining phalli, suddenly holding them in a wrestler‘s grip, crunching them downward & pulling on them, as if to break them off. The french window opened & let in the flaxen heat, which mingled with the blond that merged with the whiteness which imposed itself upon the room. The unsneezing ivory stood facing this in pouting blood & aether-chrysoprase, her tightly bound flax resting over the shoulder of her blouse, whose cuff was also tight against her pearly palm.
In some medieval tea-house (practically fallen) had been her silent peasant sculptors. The patriarch had been an even lesser poetaster than of the „minor“ class & his meadow-kisser baked bread, placing herself as she did in the muddy cabbage-rows in front of the decrepit orange-rooved monastery.
The patriarch of the Lycee in the Romanian citadel had become aware of „an unarmoured (naked?) anti-valkyrie removing the cyan souls of the weak & straight-facedly condemning them to the crimson chamber of hades“. Naturally, considering he was the most heavenly of gold-lined arch-angels, named the clever & wise Gabriele, he would approach her & take her blushing pink-hued teenage chastity.
In the dark mahogany-laden smoking room, she lay her skirt-covered behind on an even darker leathern seat beside the debonaire suit. She sat like a little boy & the monocle‘d paederast-director slowly craned his balding stare to glimpse the just-teenage knickerless cunt press itself yellow & piss-stained against her aging cream cotton stockings which were tightly attached. Nervously, she clumsily stood up amidst the daunting swank toffs & just as messily fell with her alabaster on to the shoulders of the aroused bow-tie‘d director with her blushing kiss pressed crimson-as-lucifer against the sweat of his lined-with-wrinkles forehead. The chalk of her teeth now breathed in to his nostrils that she needed desperately „to piss“ & then proceeded to do so down her cotton & thigh, leading to the peculiar sound of green-as-meadow wee bursting from a silver mechanical tap.
In his smaller artless apartment he nervously produced a cream pair of his spanked daughter‘s soft cotton in the arousing form of a pair of stretchable stockings & crumpled-up knickers. When he also wrestled the shining throb which secretly lead in to the largest room in the lesser place, his other virgin daughter was shockedly standing @ the other paint-peeling entrance, flustered & winter-coatedly. Between him & her stood another half-naked barely teenage virgin.

>>12435271
Dorothea from Middlemarch, and Catherine from Northanger Abbey