Post by adreannaTal{fb} on Nov 28, 2010 8:37:43 GMT -5
11/28/10
chore #1
restocking the kitchen tent....
~~The softness of her skin still bearing the calmness of sleep as she drifts into the kitchen and rakes at her mass of wayward curls to bring them to some soft of order. The calm wonderment of deep coco eyes gaze about the magnificent kitchen tet as she seeks out a scrap of rence paper and writing tool.
~~A gentle smile blossoming on near angelic features as she , drifts about the kitchen scritching symbols of supplies she notes need tending. The silence in her Home unheeded as she focusses on He and the needs for His consumption. Silken hair drifting over her nakedness as she turns this way and that, bending and crouching, the flex of muscles awakening her skin as she peeks to sacks, baskets and racks.
~~Finally slipping to the cold pit, shivering in the caress of nature's chilled breath, nipples aching in the tightened response to the chill, the chill climbing up warm inner thighs as the writing tools scritches whisper onto the paper. Backing out, her tight bottom leaning into the counter as the sparkle of escape twinkles in gypsy eyes.
~~Paper in her delicate grip she slips out into the sunlight, standing but a Ihn in the upward tip of her face to the sun. A gentle breeze catching her curls in a wispy dance on sun kissed flesh as she moves for the back of the kitchen tent taken out the little wagon dragging it tenderly into the sun, the discarded piece of tethered wood scraps dragged home, washed and oiled and banged into shape, a delicate hand closing on the handle as she gazes about the beautiful camp grounds
~~Flexing thighs carry her gait forth, her little wagon plodding along obediently, flinging open the door to gaze in on the well stocked shelves of the storage tent as the sunlight creeps into the dimmed light. Setting to task, moving through the stock to gather and set bottles and sacks to wagon...sa tarna grain, rice, a sack of sul, eight bottles of ka-la-na, burroughing around she spots the tins of cherished beans,
~~gathering one she clutches it close for a Ihn and adds it to the wagon. The wagon bursting at the seams as she giggles and turns for the kitchen, storing all where they belong, a warm excitement filling her as she turns back to search for the orchard.
~~Dashing off for the storage tent wielding an empty basket, the fluid race of slave muscle through soft breezes flushing her skin to the kiss of the sunlight, handle clutched she spots her destiny and wagon and slave move through the grasses to gather some fruit.
~~Gypsy eyes alive in the scents and color of wild dina, the larma and plum trees rich for the plucking, pit fruit begging to be taken, her height a boon as she climbs into the wagon to stretch yet higher for plumper treats, the bark scraping her breasts as branches catch her hair. Climbing down, clinging to a larma, rolling it gently in her hands as a wistful gaze turns back hoping He might come Home.
~~The basket taking on weight, turning for the succulent bushes riding along the border of the trees, dropping to her knees she begins to collect ramberries. Sucking at her bottom lip as her mouth begins to water, settling them to the center of her treasured tree fruit, sucking gently at the juice on her fingers as she gazes to the sun to seek out the time.
~~Jumping up she turns for the waters edge trickling its calling song on its journey . Hefting the basket in a tiny groan, the cool rushing water climbing her legs as she drifts into the water and lowers the basket. Slowly she twirls, the fruit washed in her demand for nothing but sweet perfection, lingering but a Ehn as she drags up the basket in a rushing trickle of cool water down belly and thighs, gasping in her clutch, returning to the wagon, the fruit ready for His touch as she turns back for camp
~~Retrieving her now damp list from the wagon, giggling at her folly, stopping at the storage tent to gather a satchel of dates and nuts, her burroughing curiousity still alive to know her camp as she spots a trap door and hestitates. Delicate fingers clutch the pull rope, she yanks and yelps as a rush of icey breath crashes into her nakedness. Squealing with delight that He has yet another cold pit, dropping the door she breaks into a laugh, shaking her head in a wonder at what she thought might have been stored beneath the floor.
~~Still burroughing about, peeking into tins of spice and sugars, her eyes twinkling as she finds the tins of chocolate. Thinking of Him closing His mouth on a chocolate dipped ramberry, heart pounding in the vision, adding the tin to the wagon she grabs a bunch of carrots and turns back for the kitchen. The fruit stored to cool, the nuts, dates, and chooclate racked, escaping yet again, slave and wagon turn for the woods with her egg basket and list.
~~Not particularly enjoying the smelly squawking beasts, slipping into their wild nests feathers tickling her skin as the birds take off, the basket filled with the eggs He needs, gazing gently at the ugly birds as she steals their labors as all here serve He. Backing away, shaking feathers from her hair, turning to the dairy shed she gathers the bucket of fresh milk always set daily for gathering.
~~Deshelving a block of both verr and bosk cheese, sniffing at the wrapped pungency, shivering in gratitude that she need not tend the ugly beasts which produce such wonders for His palette as she adds the cheese to wagon and slowly peeks about. Knowing it is here somewhere in the storage shed...
~~her nose curling to not so pleasant scents, spotting what might be it, she moves in the soft grace of her natural sway, dragging the door slowly as a rush of cold grips her in the scents of chilled blood.
~~Eyes wide as she winces at the carcass suspended from its hook, backing away from it as she turns to a shelf to gather a large roast, the cold bloody meat sending a tremor down her spine, even the flesh of beasts such as these exist for the service of such as He. Laying the roast in rence paper, rincing her hands, turning away quickly in the shove of ass to door, dashing to escape as she hears a bosk gated somewhere nearby.
~~Standing to warm in the sunlight, her delicate hand reaching for the handle of her wagon, turning back for the kitchen, gypsy eyes fixed on His camp as her empty hand reaches up to gently touch her collar. Storing the rest of His treasures, the meat skewed and hung to spit, fuel tossed to flame, turning for the wash basin she gently washes her hands in deep thoughts of His dinner.
chore #1
restocking the kitchen tent....
~~The softness of her skin still bearing the calmness of sleep as she drifts into the kitchen and rakes at her mass of wayward curls to bring them to some soft of order. The calm wonderment of deep coco eyes gaze about the magnificent kitchen tet as she seeks out a scrap of rence paper and writing tool.
~~A gentle smile blossoming on near angelic features as she , drifts about the kitchen scritching symbols of supplies she notes need tending. The silence in her Home unheeded as she focusses on He and the needs for His consumption. Silken hair drifting over her nakedness as she turns this way and that, bending and crouching, the flex of muscles awakening her skin as she peeks to sacks, baskets and racks.
~~Finally slipping to the cold pit, shivering in the caress of nature's chilled breath, nipples aching in the tightened response to the chill, the chill climbing up warm inner thighs as the writing tools scritches whisper onto the paper. Backing out, her tight bottom leaning into the counter as the sparkle of escape twinkles in gypsy eyes.
~~Paper in her delicate grip she slips out into the sunlight, standing but a Ihn in the upward tip of her face to the sun. A gentle breeze catching her curls in a wispy dance on sun kissed flesh as she moves for the back of the kitchen tent taken out the little wagon dragging it tenderly into the sun, the discarded piece of tethered wood scraps dragged home, washed and oiled and banged into shape, a delicate hand closing on the handle as she gazes about the beautiful camp grounds
~~Flexing thighs carry her gait forth, her little wagon plodding along obediently, flinging open the door to gaze in on the well stocked shelves of the storage tent as the sunlight creeps into the dimmed light. Setting to task, moving through the stock to gather and set bottles and sacks to wagon...sa tarna grain, rice, a sack of sul, eight bottles of ka-la-na, burroughing around she spots the tins of cherished beans,
~~gathering one she clutches it close for a Ihn and adds it to the wagon. The wagon bursting at the seams as she giggles and turns for the kitchen, storing all where they belong, a warm excitement filling her as she turns back to search for the orchard.
~~Dashing off for the storage tent wielding an empty basket, the fluid race of slave muscle through soft breezes flushing her skin to the kiss of the sunlight, handle clutched she spots her destiny and wagon and slave move through the grasses to gather some fruit.
~~Gypsy eyes alive in the scents and color of wild dina, the larma and plum trees rich for the plucking, pit fruit begging to be taken, her height a boon as she climbs into the wagon to stretch yet higher for plumper treats, the bark scraping her breasts as branches catch her hair. Climbing down, clinging to a larma, rolling it gently in her hands as a wistful gaze turns back hoping He might come Home.
~~The basket taking on weight, turning for the succulent bushes riding along the border of the trees, dropping to her knees she begins to collect ramberries. Sucking at her bottom lip as her mouth begins to water, settling them to the center of her treasured tree fruit, sucking gently at the juice on her fingers as she gazes to the sun to seek out the time.
~~Jumping up she turns for the waters edge trickling its calling song on its journey . Hefting the basket in a tiny groan, the cool rushing water climbing her legs as she drifts into the water and lowers the basket. Slowly she twirls, the fruit washed in her demand for nothing but sweet perfection, lingering but a Ehn as she drags up the basket in a rushing trickle of cool water down belly and thighs, gasping in her clutch, returning to the wagon, the fruit ready for His touch as she turns back for camp
~~Retrieving her now damp list from the wagon, giggling at her folly, stopping at the storage tent to gather a satchel of dates and nuts, her burroughing curiousity still alive to know her camp as she spots a trap door and hestitates. Delicate fingers clutch the pull rope, she yanks and yelps as a rush of icey breath crashes into her nakedness. Squealing with delight that He has yet another cold pit, dropping the door she breaks into a laugh, shaking her head in a wonder at what she thought might have been stored beneath the floor.
~~Still burroughing about, peeking into tins of spice and sugars, her eyes twinkling as she finds the tins of chocolate. Thinking of Him closing His mouth on a chocolate dipped ramberry, heart pounding in the vision, adding the tin to the wagon she grabs a bunch of carrots and turns back for the kitchen. The fruit stored to cool, the nuts, dates, and chooclate racked, escaping yet again, slave and wagon turn for the woods with her egg basket and list.
~~Not particularly enjoying the smelly squawking beasts, slipping into their wild nests feathers tickling her skin as the birds take off, the basket filled with the eggs He needs, gazing gently at the ugly birds as she steals their labors as all here serve He. Backing away, shaking feathers from her hair, turning to the dairy shed she gathers the bucket of fresh milk always set daily for gathering.
~~Deshelving a block of both verr and bosk cheese, sniffing at the wrapped pungency, shivering in gratitude that she need not tend the ugly beasts which produce such wonders for His palette as she adds the cheese to wagon and slowly peeks about. Knowing it is here somewhere in the storage shed...
~~her nose curling to not so pleasant scents, spotting what might be it, she moves in the soft grace of her natural sway, dragging the door slowly as a rush of cold grips her in the scents of chilled blood.
~~Eyes wide as she winces at the carcass suspended from its hook, backing away from it as she turns to a shelf to gather a large roast, the cold bloody meat sending a tremor down her spine, even the flesh of beasts such as these exist for the service of such as He. Laying the roast in rence paper, rincing her hands, turning away quickly in the shove of ass to door, dashing to escape as she hears a bosk gated somewhere nearby.
~~Standing to warm in the sunlight, her delicate hand reaching for the handle of her wagon, turning back for the kitchen, gypsy eyes fixed on His camp as her empty hand reaches up to gently touch her collar. Storing the rest of His treasures, the meat skewed and hung to spit, fuel tossed to flame, turning for the wash basin she gently washes her hands in deep thoughts of His dinner.