Some Virginia planters had as many as six horses. Charley June's clients are typically rich and want the best. She supplies the equestrian set with saddle and harness. In her barn are rolled-up hides, partially finished leather products, and scrap baskets filled with bits of leather. Nothing is wasted. Nothing has changed in the trade during the past two centuries for the saddle makers who deal with the 'carriage trade.' Saddles still are made by hand today. The tools are the same. Saddles and harnesses do not lend themselves to industrial mass production..
Victoria Dupardeau went bounding on horseback through the fields and forest wanting a"good seat." She wanted to fuck Charley June covered in cheesecloth to prevent spitting, what the English saddle-frame makers used over beech wood, the makers of the tree of the saddle, the skeleton in other words. Victoria had only an apprentice understanding of leather and lesbianism. You could say she was a 'good hand' not so much as learned as absorbed.
Charley June enjoyed a strapping reputation as a "harness lover." She was telling the woman customer, "with traditional tools, techniques, and materials, my harnesses should be in a museum." With a wink, Charley June ran a piece of thread made from hemp coated with beeswax under her tongue, (with eat me like pig skin erotic insinuation) and attached a flexible boar's bristle to the end of each thread to stitch through the fire bucket.
Victoria Dupardeau had a fire in her eighteenth-century pussy and she was fighting to stay in the saddle. The system of straps connecting a woman to an animal was a product of intense freedom and as sexually classy as a woman's sidesaddle that few women, and only those of the highest class rode in colonial America during the late 1700s. And there were postilions used by carriage drivers, portmanteaus for luggage, and racing saddles to add weights to handicap jockeys. Making and repairing saddles kept a good saddlemaker in business. Victoria Dupardeau's pussy lips were swollen in her jeans, and her uncontrollable desire to rip her zipper downward and show Charley June the juicy detailed execution that comes from hands-on experience was nearing the front of the barn door, where it would soon burst open with an introduction and a proposition that would keep Charley June in production for the first quarter, and we're not talking leather parts for bellows!
The insides of Victoria Dupardeau's jeans were soaked, and Charley June had been "lovin" that womanly scent since the age of thirteen. A barn, two thirteen year old girls, and a bed of straw turns a girl into a woman who is accustomed to it from early learning. Charley June and the girl watched out the barn window, and they knew in quickness to pull up panties, zip jeans and wipe lips, gargling with a stashed bottle of cinnamon mouthwash. because you know, pussy breath is so wonderfully overpowering and unmistakably revealing of the act.
"What can I do for you?" Charley June asked.
"My name is Victoria Dupardeau. I want something for this...can you accomodate me?" Victoria Dupardeau held up a "pistol bucket" or saddle holster. Charley June smiled and took the leather in her hands and sniffed. "Is your horse outside?" Charley June asked.
"How did you know?"
"I smell fresh horse lather on the leather. It's purely intoxicating, like that other smell. Hi, I'm Charley June." She extended her hand out to Victoria Dupardeau.
"Look inside," Victoria Dupardeau said.
Charley June peered down inside the pistol bucket. Smiling, Charley June nodded. "Be right back. I have what you need up in the loft."
Victoria Dupardeau had a look around at the leather collars for dogs, bear, and deer. As a leather and lesbian apprentice, she came to appreciate each piece she touched. She picked up a pigskin handle of a long driver's whip and fell to her knees in the straw, swearing that she would get a good grip on Charley June. Hogskin had the texture to be soft and daring and teeth-baring. Victoria Dupardeau was not vocally shy and not yet knowing it, neither was Charley June. Voice was particularly versatile in passion, cries and screams, and vocal appreciation for orgasm.
"Can you come up to the loft, Victoria?"
"Should I bring anything up?"
"Cheesecloth and pigskin," Charley June answered.
How did she know? Victoria whispered under her breath. A woman can tell. A woman knows when she wants the hide, its strength and its grain housing an object of supreme pleasure and sensual rapture.
Victoria Dupardeau climbed up to the loft and fell to her knees when she saw Charley June lying naked in the straw, working in harness. She had a thigh harness strapped on, with O-rings and adjustable D-rings for a fine-tune fit for any size dildo in Victoria Dupardeau's pistol bucket. The lube represented vocal independence and its insertion into the fire of eighteenth century pussy. "Fuck me into colonial Williamsburg!" Victoria Dupardeau undressed, her femininity unbound for apprenticeship, not in the traditional strap-on waist harness. She squatted down over Charley June's strapped thigh and impaled herself on the lubricated cock free of the saddle holster she went bounding on horseback through the fields and forest wanting a "good seat." She took the cock deep on the downstroke as Charley June pumped her thigh to meet in supreme pleasure and sensual rapture with Victoria Dupardeau's cries and screams, and vocal appreciation for orgasm. Charley June rose up from the bed of straw and covered herself in the cheesecloth, making a hole for the cock strapped to her thigh. Victoria Dupardeau kneeled and sucked Charley June's cock and fucked Charley June's pussy with the pigskin handle of a long driver's whip. Hogskin had the texture to be soft and daring and teeth-baring.
Victoria Dupardeau's breasts made a request to be cradled between Charley June's thigh harness. The lube represented vocal independence and its insertion into the fire of eighteenth century cleavage. Charley June stroked eight inches from cleavage to Victoria Dupardeau's mouth, back and forth in lubricated bliss. Victoria Dupardeau's nipples demanded to be sucked passionately into entry of Charley June's ledger and order book."Suck me hard, and then go down with your mouth," Victoria whispered.
A modern day lesbian maker of saddles and harness feels the same way as her lesbian predecessors, because little has changed in the trade during the past two centuries. and nothing has changed about eating pussy. Charley June's tongue flicked apart Victoria Dupardeau's pussy lips and she licked her like a "clam," a clamp that held leather, but left hands free to stitch. When it came to stitching leather, Charley June worked to produce an effect known in the trade as "finish." Finish reflected pride of craft, skill, and a thorough knowledge of the material. Virginia is a great place to practice the craft. "Look outside," Victoria Dupardeau said, pointing out the loft window. Charley June saw a carriage rolling toward the barn. They gargled with a stashed bottle of cinnamon mouthwash, because you know, pussy breath is so wonderfully overpowering and unmistakably revealing of the act.
Copyright 12/29/08 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist, unrivaled, bringing you the upper tier in lesbian erotica
http://www.authorsden.com/sagesweetwater
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