Blissful Torment

She unravelled her toga over her shoulder and let it slip down her busty bosom. It was ample, not to say succulent. Its dome shape stood out from her upper body like halved melons on a platter, at least a full pollex in diameter. Her tiny pink nipples composed a wonderful contrast to her alabaster white skin. She weighed just shy of CLII libra, her waist barely one gradus in circumference, but her hips would be perfect for child-rearing, at an astounding II cubitum in size! Her hair was black as the night and slightly curled, as it dropped over her olive coloured and unblemished skin. It swayed in the warm breeze, enticing any onlookers of her unbridled sexuality.

As the garment slipped past her venus, it was bared that she was fully shaven, an immaculate pudenda for all to see, moist and ready for coitus. Her big teats and wide pleurons bounced as she walked towards the exit of the changing room, a smile on her perfect face, looking forward to enjoy her time with the other noblewomen at the bathhouse.

The translator sighed, and put her pen down. Of course. How could it have been any different. In front of her was a barely legible wax imprint of the oldest known Roman erotica, and after many hours guessing at what the partially unreadable words meant it became very clear: It was written by a man, and mindbogglingly stupid.

Copyright 2019-06-20 Blissful Torment