In the small but thriving
English county of Downshire people go about the tasks of their everyday existence
in ways that range from the mundane to the extraordinary as their forebears had
done for centuries before, in the varied and diverse landscape, from the
Ancient forests of Dancingdean and Pepperstock, the craggy ridges and manmade lakes
of the Pepperstock Hills National Park, the rolling hills of the Downshire
Downs, to the beautiful Finchbottom Vale and the short but beautiful coastline
to the east, but it’s in the old market town of Abbeyvale where the participants
of this tale live their lives, and Morella Garcia was enjoying the early June
sunshine.
It was her day off and
she was taking advantage of it, she had been for a walk, and as she was a tall
and slender brunette with an ample bosom, she wore a dress that showed off her assets,
and her beauty combined with a complexion that betrayed her Spanish heritage
meant she did not go unnoticed.
So, when the
Twenty-five-year-old braless beauty was only a few doors from her house she saw
her neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Brown and their pretty red headed daughter Dakota,
leaving their house and as was her habit she smiled and said
“Good morning”
Genuinely expecting
the customary response of echoing the greeting but instead got something quite
different.
“I’ll give you good morning
your Italian slut” she bawled
“You keep your eyes
off my husband”
Morella was not, due
to her Latin temperament, averse to the idea or indeed the execution of
dragging the mouthy bitch over the fence and giving her a slap, but instead
chose something that would enrage her even more.
“Actually, I’m Spanish
and I have no interest in your husband” she said “I would happily entertain
your daughter though”
With that Mrs. Brown
launched into a tirade of abuse which was made worse by the fact Morella smiled
at the woman as she was raging.
Poor Mr. Brown had to
physically restrain her and manhandle her towards the front door.
Sitting on her patio later
that day she reviewed the events of the morning, trying to discern what, if
any, offence she could have caused, but could think of none, because the last
thing she was expecting when she said “good morning” to the Browns was to be
verbally abused and warned to stay away from Mr. Brown.
In truth Morella
hadn’t really looked at him prior to the abuse and when she did look him over
after the event, she didn’t think he was anything special, and she wasn’t
generally fussy when it came to sexual partners.
She was just musing
over whether she should go out that evening to find someone that did tick her
boxes when the doorbell rang.
As she prepared to
open the door, she was hoping it wasn’t “Mouthy Brown” looking for round two
but when it opened, she delighted and surprised to find instead her 17-year-old
daughter Dakota, and she took a moment to drink in the vision of every inch of
her five-foot tall, pale skinned, slender frame, from her flame-coloured hair
down to her dainty size 3 feet.
“Hi Morella” she said
quietly
“Hello Dakota” she replied,
“Did your mum send you?”
“Oh no” she replied,
and her cheeks flushed scarlet
“I’ve come to be entertained”
It took a moment for
her reply to sink in but when the penny dropped, she took hold of her hand and
said
“Well, you’ve come to
the right place lovely”
So, she didn’t need to
go out to find a box ticker after all, because in the end she had a doorstep
delivery, and it was well after dark when Dakota returned home.
