Mirabelle Ch. 02

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Mirabelle only half believed what she had read on the toilet door at school, but she had gone so far now that she wasn’t turning back; so toodle-hoo, and toodle-pip – she was going all the way, and that felt hip.

Mirabelle put the Vaseline on her lips and on the hairbrush handle too, and wiped her finger with a bunch of toilet tissue that she had secured from the bathroom on her way to bed from the loo.

Mirabelle spooled out a length of the cotton thread, and threaded both of the largest darning needles, sitting meekly upon a sagging edge of her cross-legged bed, with the same piece of cotton thread. She had her dark t-shirt over the lamp shade to cut out most of the light for her parents.

She tied the ends of it together so that the needles were threaded on the loop of thread just longer than the distance between her two.

She had felt in the tub that she was still sealed.

Mirabelle felt sad for robbing her future husband the experience of breaking through it, but it was hers and she wanted to do it.

It felt smooth and slightly elastic. When she pushed, it tingled üsküdar escort and sort of burned.

She had sharpened the pencil at school, and used it for a while.

She was afraid of its newly sharpened sharpness. She tried to see it with a mirror on the floor and her father’s flash-light from behind.

She couldn’t see it.

It looked like a picture in a book at school she saw of an oyster out of its shell in biology, or a jelly fish she found on the beach when she was four, and poked with a stick for a long time.

The longer she tried to see the smooth thing in there, and pulled the workings about, the redder it all got.

It started out small and very pink, but now she was afraid of it.

It was deep red and swollen and two, sort of butterfly wings, dropped down toward the mirror now.

Everything went quiet around here.

The room disappeared around her.

Mirabelle could only hear her own breathing, and was only aware of the swollen red butterfly oyster jellyfish thing in the mirror. yenibosna escort She was afraid again.

She noticed hair growing out of the rim of the oyster. Black ones! But her hair was blond…? She was confused. She tried to pull one out, and almost screamed!

Muscles upon her thighs were getting exhausted; squatting over and about the mirror.

Mirabelle didn’t pay too much attention to the thing behind the middle of the oyster.

Mirabelle wondered for a moment though why was it a deeper red approaching brown around the ring center at the back with some hairs too arranged like lots of hands of a clock running around a dark centered puckered crack?

What was happening down there?

Did it happen to her friends?

Did it happen to her mother?

Did it happen to Nana, and what about Miss Salter the choir teacher? Mirabelle wanted to ask them all if she could look with the flashlight.

What if it was happening to only her!

Mirabelle sat on the edge of the bed thinking and worrying. zeytinburnu escort

What is happening to me in my panties!

And look at these things up here, but she knew that happened to the others too, and the toilet door told her about this…and other things….

Mirabelle’s leg muscles were hurting.

She looked at the clock.

She had been squatting for over an hour, and looking.

In-between felt too big to close her legs now.

It felt very warm.

It was slippery.

She didn’t understand.

Mirabelle had the pencil in her hand.

Perhaps she shouldn’t do it.

She put it in until it stopped.

She pushed it a litter harder.

She felt the tingle and burn. Then it shot! …through.

Mirabelle let go and the pencil hung there.

After some time Mirabelle pulled it out and found the rip with her middle finger.

She pushed it on through and could feel it rip the smooth thing.

After a while she was open.

Her finger had a special fragrance, one she had only dreamed of.

Mirabelle tasted it, but it was the smell she liked. It smelled naughty, and dangerous.

It felt wonderful…the smell did.

Mirabelle felt like…Woman by Pencil.

Not Woman by man.

Mirabelle smiled…in the wake of her postmortem loss, and her hymen autopsy would reveal – “Death by pencil and finger, rather than by cock”.

(continued in chpt.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın