*Tuning out, last period, Religion*

Teacher, "...now turn to page 175, we will begin comparing themes from the old testament to what we find in..."

*...drifting away...*

Fresh pressed cane is added to my bath. Like the cane, I am sweet and earthy. My body is smooth from magnolia oil, glistening with flakes of gold and silver from the living waters. The baths are carved in solid gemstone. My tub is rose quartz, a blushing pink like my flower's gem. My Master tears into me, as if I am a pear freshly fallen from the tree, split and protruding. The hot water relieves my thighs and hips after he loves me deeply. Accepting and nurturing his seed. In months, I labor with my sisters. He sows into us wildly. Seven gardens planted in a single night. Seven stone baths holding lavishly-seeded wives. My love is our Master’s favorite. She is the color of cinnamon, long dark hair resting at the swell of her back, with the radiance and beauty of a young mother. I tend to her, lovingly relieving her breasts in a tub of amethyst. He fills her frequently with fervor and delight, maintaining her heaving breasts.

Her flower and sweet streams of milk generate a powerful erection in our Master. He spreads me open upon his lips, polishing my gem. I can nearly feel the pulse of his staff inside me as he plants into her. When he is satisfied I fall away from him. Her protruding heat from his overflowing seed, and her softness, cause me to quiver, provoking a jealous reaction. When we serve him, we are only to delight in his staff. Now he mocks me, restricting suckling offspring, delighting selfishly in my love's aching breasts. When he drinks her, her flower clings tightly to his hardened staff, exciting him, hurting me. I desire to offer her that pleasure. He drinks her in front of me. I am restricted to silence. If I intrude I will be punished, forced to service him harshly alongside her. After our Master is asleep, I clean her, licking her swollen flower, relieving her soreness. I taste our Master, taking in his familiar seed, and my love's intoxicating essence. My desire for her is untamed. If I could produce seed, I would bury into her, delighting in filling her womb entirely, caring for her in the baths as she labors. Her flower’s nectar is sweeter than the sun-fattened figs, only comparing to that of her breastmilk.

Resin smokes from large lamps at far corners of the bathing chambers. I gently kiss behind her earring. Amber streaks of light dance on her cheek. I rub my gem against her slowly while glimmering waters lap around us. My caramel breasts welcome the rise and fall of her supple back. She is my harp, emitting sound from my caress. Her softness brings me closer to peak. She arches deeper against me. My body trembles in its first release of the night. She closes painted eyes, opening wide for me as the tips of my fingers bring her to climax. Her large aching breasts float amidst our heat, and combined nectars. She pleases herself beneath the water surface, while I express her into a silver chalice. My unhooded gem remains impressed upon her body 'til sunrise, the rising of our Master’s staff. Thirsty for her, my red lips purse, eagerly accepting the cold silver rim, and her warm sweet milk. Chambermaids replenish dwindling resins, as steam from the amethyst spirals upward.

*Class Bells*