This story is the continuation of the "Lost in Lisbon" series and the finale of "The Terrorist" series, both taking place in the same universe I created in "Portuguese Crime Reduction Act".
These are parallel stories, both derived from "Don't Drink and Drive" and "Back to Skool". In this episode, Sofia, Sara, and Marina face punishment for their crimes, each in their own way. In this story, I tried to introduce different and non-linear narrative styles, as well as give each character their own voice. Like Marina bad English.
I would very much like to receive readers' critiques, especially regarding the narrative and its structure. Reading my complete "literary work" is advisable, but not necessary; the two "The Terrorist" series are enough to understand all the events in the present story, which is still comprehensible on its own.
My view on the death penalty is expressed by Sofia; although it is a useful tool for dramatic and narrative purposes, it is just that.
Grateful for the time you spend reading these stories, I appreciate your comments if you like them and even more if you don't, as long as you don't insult my mother.
All characters are over 18 years old.
I hope you enjoy yourselves.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------ -------------- ----------------------------------- ------------------- ---------------------- -----------------
Miguel Pov
I was sitting on the sofa watching the news. The stories were the usual fare: wars in Ukraine and the Middle East, sports, politics, some terrorists who had been sentenced to death, the travelling duo visiting monuments and restaurants, and my favourite segment - the stand-up comedy bit that summarised everything and laid bare the ridiculous nature of reality.
Speaking of bare, Sofia had just entered the room wearing only a white linen shirt. The contours of her breasts were visible as she hadn't buttoned up the shirt, her brown nipples stood out proudly against the white fabric, a subtle contrast that drew the eye. It was a brilliant decision to have her naturally pink nipples and areolas, typical of redheaded women, tattooed a medium shade of brown.
As she stood up from picking up the dinner dishes, her movements caused the white linen shirt to shift and reveal the perfect round breasts my slave had. It was a game for me, playing cat and mouse, in the early days of her sentence. She had done everything possible to preserve her intimacy, but now she acted naturally around the house, I continued to admire her body, her long athletic legs, the shirt fabric stood just above the zone where her buttocks ended and her thighs began, as if it were a very short mini skirt, just as the shirt barely concealed her breasts, it did the same with her vulva. I had instructed Carla to shave Sofia's labia majora and perianal area, But I had her to preserve the beautiful copper-colored carpet of hair that covered Sofia's pubis just over her slit. I never understood how a trend started by Brazilian prostitutes to prevent pubic lice had become the global standard for intimate beauty. I took particular pleasure in seeing pubic hair, red pubes were my favorites.
After she had cleared the dishes, Sofia came up to me, "Miguel, I have put away the dishes and tidied up the kitchen, is there anything else you want me to do?" This was what she would almost always ask me after finishing her household chores and when she had no other tasks such as grading tests or preparing lessons, most of the time, we would both be on the sofa watching a movie or a series.
Occasionally, I would ask her to give me a slow blowjob, usually during a football game. Or more often, she would lie down with her legs resting on my lap as I massaged her feet and legs, or the other way around, as I also love a foot massage. On some occasions, we made love on the couch but I always preferred making love in the bed, it was simply more comfortable.
"Yes, Sofia, I want you to undress completely," was not a command I often gave her. I much preferred to see her semi-nude; it was a rule that when we were alone in the house she should only wear one piece of clothing. She would usually opt for a blouse or bra, even in those early days. Boob shy I guess.
She didn't seek out the reason, she simply let her blouse glide down to the floor and slipped off her sandals.
I observed her body, a body that I had seen, felt, and enjoyed daily for the past month and a half. It was more toned now, due to physical exercise. "On your tiptoes and stretch up your arms as far as you can," I commanded her.
In exertion, the toned muscles of her legs and buttocks were visible. I caressed her thighs and felt her firm, hard buttocks, then traced my hands up to her shoulder blades and shoulders. When on tiptoes, she was the same height as me -- 175cm or 176cm. I returned to explore Sofia's white skin again, back down to her thighs. Then I positioned myself in front of her, running my hand through her wavy hair which I swept back over her shoulders. Her long, silky copper-red hair accounted for half of Sofia's beauty;
it partially covered her breasts when it flowed freely. She maintained her posture; I didn't know if I could stay on tiptoes for so long. I pushed down on her shoulders, "Keep your arms straight." Sofia's face remained motionless; only a slight tremor in her carmine lips revealed any emotion as she stared into the distance with her intense blue-green or green-blue eyes, the exact colour changed with the light and her mood
.
With her arms stretched out, Sofia's breasts were two rounded mounds with a brown circle at the center, the right one was slightly larger but the difference was only noticeable after careful observation. I felt both in my hands and assessed their firmness, then ran my hands over Sofia's abdomen. It was firm, but not as firm as her buttocks and thighs. "Arms down," I said. It wasn't an order, just an instruction. I went back up to her round and full breasts with a beautiful under boob, now that they were no longer stretched.
I settled back onto the sofa, her intimate area level with my face. I touched her outer lips; they were soft to the touch, as though they had never had a single hair, completely covering the inner folds. I could feel them swelling beneath my touch and dampness beginning to form in her vagina. I traced my fingers along the inside of her thighs down to her knee, exhaling deeply.
"You may dress yourself now now," I said. She glanced at me as she slipped on her blouse, a question lingering in her eyes.
"Aren't you going to use me, sir?" Her voice was neutral, but a hint of disappointment was unmistakable.
"Do you wish for me to use you?" It was a question that her body had already answered, yet it wasn't part of my plan today.
