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Hot candle-grease treacling down her thick labia
Hot candle-grease treacling down her thick labia
That awful stench! Like after a failed barbecue … But it was the branding of the farmer’s wife. With the farm’s ‘logo’. The farmer’s wife, who was still lying quite numb on the iron roster above the dung pit. Shaking almost invisibly, her layers of white flesh acting as shock berakers on the cold hard steel.
Harry’s kinky revenge fantasy – that revived every time he thought about what the farmer’s wife had done to him for weeks, without retaliation – was kindled when he looked at her, lying there on a roster.
He had taken a bunch of candles from a cupboard in the farmhouse and had turned the farmer’s wife on her painful back, with some trouble because of her enormous weight. He had spread her tree-trunk-like legs as wide as possible, had chained her by her ankles to the roster, so that her fleshy thick labia, with their many fishhooks, stared at him as if they invited him.
Her enormous boobs seemed to have glued themselves to her upper body, by their sheer gravity. But this was just appearance, he knew. With some hot candle-grease he would make them move like pudding. And how much candle-grease would it take to cover the fishhooks in her nipples?
But first he started to stuff candles into her cunt, one by one, with great ease. She took 16 in all, more than he had expected.
That is why he ordered Nell, the only active spectator of the farmer’s wife’s ordeal, to go inside and find some thicker candles for the regular candle-dripping on her body. So that the other candles could stay in her cunt.
Nell disappeared into the farmhouse, while Harry lit the candles one by one. They stuck into the farmer’s wife’s cunt for some 5 inches, and stuck out for some 4 inches at the start of the game. The farmer’s wife seem to notice that her abdomen got warmer and she was lucky not to have any pubic hair. She hardly reacted, however, because she was still recovering from the branding and from the tattoo session that had taken hours.
This had exhausted her. And what was about to happen now with the castles, would further deplete her reserves.
The sixteen candles generated candle-grease quite soon. Slowly the grease oozed down the farmer’s wife’s labia and met the fishhooks in them. Like lava treacling down a volcano.
The farmer’s wife tried to get loose, now that she could no longer ignore the heat of the candles. But moving her lower body only meant that the candle-grease found new ways to reach the roster by slowly going down her labia, or to harden in the cold air and building small layers. Red layers, like icing on a cake.
The space between the farmer’s wife’s legs was becoming quite a mess, to put it mildly. Layer upon layer of candle-grease was building up. The fishhooks had become invisible by now. Who would have thought that those enormous labia would have disappeared under a thick layer of candle-grease?
The candles had shrunk by half an inch by now. Another 7 inches to go before Harry would have to get into action. Besides, the candles would first reach a layer of hardened candle-grease, before he would have to take a bucket of water and play the fire brigade.
But there were still many hours to go before that …. Tantalizing hours for the farmer’s wife.