Cockerelles & Posies Pt. 04

#5

I am met by Miss Brushnique on the following day as I make my way out to the gardens to explore the labyrinth Maddie has been nurturing back to maturity in recent years.

"May I join you on your walk?" Tora asks me with her arms tucked tightly against her lower back as if to impress with plumage were she a woody bird during mating season.

"I do like the idea of your company, Miss Brushnique. We could have more posy lessons within should we find ourselves hopelessly lost and with nothing better to do."

The woman masters her desire to grin as the tall bushes encompass our little world we have decided to share in the early hours of the afternoon.

"A propensity to say affectionate things can be startling, Miss Song. I do think your flirtations with me are meant to disarm my desire for nosiness in unraveling the mystery behind your queer character. Am I right to ask if you're playing a game with me to placate my curiosity long enough that it grows bored and I leave empty handed?"

"What of mine could you possibly hope to take? If you want a sample of blood, you need only to ask. I can't imagine cloning me would make you happy though. I struggle to make you grin. Creating your happiness might exhaust a person to the point of total collapse."

This comment forces a burst of air from her lips. She breathes in deeply, nearly popping her tightly buttoned coat whose stiffness, cut, and trim projects a taste for the old-fashioned in her appearance.

"I apologize in advance for what I am about to reveal and assure you it is only out of my concern for your future that my ears heard such things. I do believe your sister's affection for you has wandered into the realm of the inappropriate."

"And what did you hear exactly?" I say, turning to face my sister's accuser.

"I cannot say I heard it in the particulars of any conversation as much as I can read her heart the way she looks and speaks around you. She has a fondness for you that I think you might flee from if it were to be proven true to my suspicions."

"Where would I flee to?" I ask. "Is this some proposal you have for me to return to your land across the sea and join your cult of posy-to-posy love? Or are you interested in a payment of a bribe to keep your silence?"

This does not sit well at all with Miss Brushnique.

"That I would ruin the life of someone so valuable as you? Every day we hear news of some poor posy ostracized for dabbling in their own kin's seed, sent to be reformed by the Sisterhood of Light. You do not comprehend the profit your authentication would bring to your fortunes if I were to prove you are indeed the Toiler Incarnate. The fame you would garner would put you in the history books. Is it wrong for me to wish to be by your side as your star climbs into the sky? I would seek to guard such a heavenly symbol."

"And what could you offer me in return? You are nothing but an inquisitor, a relic of an all but forgotten age. Your kind are only kept around as a way to sell tickets to tourists who come to peruse your museums of fanciful ideas which modern science has thoroughly disproven."

"Your disbelief in my relevance stings me, Miss Song. I hoped you might have enjoyed the interactions of our characters enough to consider me a friend in the future if not something even more precious. I admire your ability to find loveliness in me and everything around you. No, I would go so far as to say it melts my secret heart when I think that your affection for me might be something real. Or was our practice on the daybed something like a routine for you?"

"I apologize if I made you out to be more common than you desire to be seen. But yes, I find your person very attractive. That you are forward in your manners seems to heighten my own sense of ease. And I suppose I must admire how your breasts bulge with such perfect form between the placket of your revealing shirt. I would guess they are presented so perkily to temp me with their warm sensations pressed against my own naked breast should I be so inclined this afternoon."

Miss Brushnique takes my hand like she is my teacher wishing to lead me to her waiting classroom. We find a bench tucked away in one of the roundabouts scattered throughout the maze's many corridors where she requests I sit for a continuation of our posy lesson from the day before.

"If I could steal your affection away from that Josie, it would be the culmination of my life's work," she says. "I would go to great lengths to make certain she finds love in the heart of the Red Rose she fell in love with as a youth. Would you hate me if I led her away and took you as my own?"

"You've brought me here to confess your desire to steal me in some way other than brute extortion? Is this infatuation I sense? We have only just known each other a day."

"I suspect you are the thing that all posykind dreams of having you silly flower. That I could brag that I took the hand forever of the first of your breed would be my life's fulfillment. How could I refuse your love if you thought it good to return the same dedication to me?"

"You are a mad posy suitor if there ever was such a thing in nature," I say, touching the strands of dirty-blonde hair that escape the restraints which hold her mane in its tight cord down the back of her neck. "What is love in a world where the Toiler Incarnate exists? Wouldn't the paradox of equality be finally solved and all thoughts of loss and gain be purged from the calculation of who is on top of the relationship?"

"Could we both be on top and bottom at the same time?" she asks.

We laugh together at the absurdity of our dilemma.

"Let's put it to a test then. Perhaps I could do with a few more of those oral lessons you were showing me before we were interrupted by my jealous sister as you call her."

"I would be happy to demonstrate for as long as it pleases you," she says, going to one knee.

"No," I insist, patting the seat next to me. "This time I will be the mouth and you will be the posy on top. That way you can tell me if I've gotten the technique down correctly should we ever need to practice for fun in our future outings together."

Miss Brushnique's wide-opened eyes say she is delighted by my request.

"Now, I'm only doing this to keep you off my sister's case," I say. "However, if I like it as much as you seemed to when you performed for me, I will agree to do it to see you smile authentically more often in our future interactions."

My lips and tongue prove themselves capable enough on my first go at making a posy's special flower tingle. Tora's fingers squirming through my ruddy locks testifies her appreciation of my efforts.

#6

I make Mother Olive the next target of my pleas for family unity, mainly as a consequence of her availability. I find her unpacking from a crate an ancient torture device in the section of our basement that still has the look of an ancient dungeon. I cringe thinking that a previous owner of our home recreated such a place as this where someone could reenact scenes that were a popular choice of punishment among the nobella elite during ages long ago.

"Yes, what is it you're after?" she asks. "I'm busy down here."

I tap Mother on her bare arm and accuse her of speaking to me like a bratty prep school student.

"Still climbing into bed with Lulu Lerner for lessons in the selling of quaky youth-concoctions to the unaware?" I ask.

"They're not quaky, my fresh little posy, nor was I ever climbing into bed with Lulu Lerner. Her attitude was always professional. Now that I am cockerelle I do not fit her type for romping between the sheets. She is only interested in my money and my willingness to test out her theories like some kind of youth-starved guinea pig."

"That device you have there, looks like it requires quite a commitment from whomever must wear it around them. Is it meant to squeeze the innards out of its victim as if they are a cream filled Danish in the hands of an overeager child?"

"I do not like the picture that paints. Saying it like that proves you know nothing of the purpose this device was made for fulfilling. It is not a torture device so much as it is a tool of submission. It promises to repair the damage to the tender pieces at the base of my spine worn by all those years of packing my hug-hungry seedlings around both inside and outside of myself. Takes a toll on a place that is quite important for giving one the illusion that they are still young on the inside."

"Oh, dampening your sex life is a crime, Mother. My compassion requires I take this matter as seriously as you do. That I could help. Is this an archaic form of medicine, or is it something blessed with the power of charms?"

"It's an old charm, yes. Explains the crude nature of its making, though I do admit its appearance is meant to cause the wearer to feel they are about to be mangled as you described it earlier. It is what they say about the gods and their great machines called forges which gave shape to our reality. One hears the word forge, and the first thought that comes to mind is a great metal anvil with hammers and tongs and a musclebound cockerelle creating a great deal of noise and sparks around a dangerously hot flame. But that is not what their forges look like. The imagery painted on the walls of the temples of the Sisters of Light are not at all accurate to what the truth really is."

"Mother you have dedicated your mind to escaping old age, haven't you? Listen to you talk of history and heavenly machines. Your concepts of science are about as accurate as what I ramble on about when I try to sound smarter than I am."

"I am interested in results, child. And if you are here to make a mockery of my desires, then I suggest you go and play mean with your sister Becka who appreciates your constant ribbing."

"No, I am here to beg you to stay around Mother and not go wandering off across the face of Heartseed in a desperate attempt reclaim your youth. If that means I have to take your Lulu Lerner seriously, then believe me I am willing to hold my tongue. Tell me, what does this thing do exactly?"

"I only took it out to look before I shipped it away to your second-cousin twice-removed living up in the hollows of the Guttlebutte hill country. Making sure it's the authentic piece Lulu sold me."

"Who are these cousins of which you speak?" I ask.

"I have kinfolk up there according to my Kunis family tree scribed by divinity, and their cooperation will make this mysterious device really hum according to Lulu's research teams."

"That you look into dusty tomes of bygone gods to find your lineage among posykind is truly inspiring, Mother. Is it because these kin share your Sharp name? You realize the fallen branches of our family tree tend to create confusion in our searches within that sacred directory kept by angels in the mystical heavens far above our world?"

"Our gene-trees are proven mechanically not mystically, through things mathematical not augury, and with science not alchemy as their overseer. It was ancient cockerelles who designed this old charm I have here. They shaped it in the old world across the sea. Their progeny found it buried somewhere in a dusty closet and brought it with them ages ago when they fled Angelic Britsland. I suppose they hoped to use it here in their quest to find the kind of lust their hearts desired that the monarchy back home found distasteful at the time. You know, putting down seed close to your seedlings."

"Am I hearing this right? Are you implying that acts of incest are somehow key to making this old thing relieve your lower-back pain?"

Mother smiles her prettiest smile at my discovery.

"It works. Lulu's proven it. And yes, incest seems to be the boost that all of these old charms need to really get the results. The idea in their design was that the unwillingness of posykind to engage in such taboo things would keep the whole world from using them to live forever. At least that's how Lulu reasons their hiding underground. The forges of the gods are machines, but the gears aren't literal like the wooden ones in a clock. Nor are they completely metaphorical like the gears in your head when you talk about thinking. It's something else in between and goes with the old saying that the gods grant us our desires based upon the willingness in our hearts. That's how charms work. It's chemistry of the brain, emotions of the heart, mixed in with the kinds of mechanisms in the higher realms that we can only dream of ever comprehending."

"So, incest jollies was a requirement to pull off eternal youth?"

"That's the short way of saying it, I suppose. I just have to look at these people I've never met before and convince my heart that I'm getting twisted thoughts about them as we make love."

I can't help but fret at her description.

"Sorry, Mother Olive, but I do wish you would consider another route to treating your back that doesn't involve moving away for months at a time."

"No, I would be gone longer than months at a time, I'm afraid. I need to really feel that I share blood with these people before the devices will do me any good. I'll have to make a longer commitment than that. I've volunteered myself to do some real manual labor on their farm to help get me into the spirit of their family bond."

"This sounds like you're looking for more pain before you get the relief this charm promises to provide. Why not go and see a real doctor? We do have the most advanced medicine in the history of our species. Isn't there a quick and easy fix for this?"

"There is a difference between having your body sculpted back into trim form and having your own youth restored to you, my dearest girl. That is the aim of Lulu's investigations into the workings of these things. Our modern methods introduce artificial results. It's a healthier back, but it's not your younger back. That is the thing I am after. It is the spirit of youth that these devices return to those who commit themselves to them. I don't want to just appear young. These things turn our effigies back into what we were when we were still young. My youthful spirit won't be a show. It will be authentic. I will forget the wisdom one gains as old women do that makes us see life in a colder, harder light. I want the fire of my youth again, and I'm willing to pay the price to have the authentic outcome."

"Well, I have come here to convince you to not abandon our home, Mother. Why not take advantage of the kinship we share to get your mind in the right place to make these charms work properly and efficiently for you?"

"Am I hearing you right?" she asks. "Are you proposing I have sex with my own daughter?"

"No, Mother, don't say it that way."

"Well, that is the way I would have to say it if this thing were to work properly. It is the naughty nature of the act that feeds into the process to make it come off most effectively. You want memories of your mother poking her root in you just so I can forget my old age?"

"First of all, I don't think you're being honest about the requirements of this thing. I mean, what position must I be in for this thing to get you where you want to go?"

Mother shrugs.

"Lulu calls it a Submission Girdle for lack of a better term. And you are right, I don't have to penetrate you to get the benefits from it. The idea is that I spread my seed on the breasts of my entangled kin. The victim is forced into the device as in the old days is how we suspect it works best."

I lift the device from the table where she's set it to inspect it and find the hasp at its back.

"I imagine this part was supposed to be bolted down somewhere so the wearer couldn't scramble away."

There are some links of chain bolted deep into the stone foundation walls nearby. I pick up a heavy lock setting open nearby and fasten the girdle to a link on the chain in the wall, snapping it shut.

"This would keep someone from getting away, wouldn't it?" I ask. "Especially if my arms were tied behind."

"That was the idea," she says, "although I didn't have that particular spot in mind. A person would have to be on their knees to get into it and fasten it up where you've put it."

I roll my eyes.

"Mother, if casting a handful of my own seed on this body will keep you from traipsing off to play naughty games with our hillbilly cousins you've never met before, I think I can stand to get down on my knees and play the victim."

Mother raises her hands in protest.

"Don't call it your seed," she says. "That takes the whole idea right out of it. If I think I'm squirting your seed on you what good does that do my imagination? The gods will judge me a pretender."

I take off my top and skirt so I'm naked save my stockings and pumps. I give mother a pair of scissors I find before going over to squeeze myself into the iron-banded charm, dropping down to my knees unfazed by whatever damage it does to the clean, white fabric of my stockings.

"I think you should strap me in good and tight if we're to test it out right. And recall that I have taken all measures to hand over my heritage to those I feel better equipped to handle such responsibility."

"And what are the scissors for?" Mother asks.

"To cut off my bra and panties once you've forced me into your incest trap. Get in the spirit, Mother. I know you planned all along to steal my root from me, so you could use it to make yourself young again at my expense. It's not my seed anymore since I can't take it back. My family's cruel trickery to make certain I could never back from my folly has sealed my fate. I am your posy lesser now. I am bent to your mercy."

"What?!"

I rock my head to one side. The expression on mother's face and mine share the same slow uptake on the hints I've just given her.

"Oh, yes," she says, lowering her voice into something which sounds more sinister.

She does her best to appear domineering in her skintight youth-wear. She holds the scissors in a more threatening manner before clamping them between her teeth like a pirate. Then she's down at my waist, carefully buckling the leather straps into their retainers. When the last step comes to pull the long restraining straps which tighten the device around my naked hips like a vice, she gives a cruel hiss to make the facts of our new relationship clear.

"How's that you naughty girl?" she asks, pulling the strap tighter and tighter.

"A little too tight," I whimper.

A sudden look of panic in her eyes turns back into calm a moment later. She swallows a smile.

"Good," she says, giving the strap another yank so that it really does bite into my frame, forcing my back to arch and my breasts up in just the way the device was designed to do.

"Gah!" I huff.

She stops again to make certain of herself, I think, before committing equally to the willingness I've displayed up to this point.

She takes the scissors out of her mouth and cuts my bra into little pieces, tossing them aside like chunks of trash. She does the same to my panties, rubbing their crotch on her cheek before letting an uncontrolled snicker escape her lips.

Then her eyes land on my breasts.

"They've gotten bigger, haven't they," she says, reaching down to test their feel. "They look something like baby volcanoes. Have you been charming them?"

I shiver at her touch. She withdraws her hands thinking perhaps they were cold against my bare skin. But the truth is Becka's collar that I still wear around my neck from the day before seems to have done its job on me. I found her touch more arousing than I think I should have.

Mother touches them again after realizing the skin on her fingers is hot if anything.

"You like that, don't you?" she asks, thinking I'm simply playing along as the feelings her hands produce in my breasts turn my thoughts to a drunken state of inhibition. "Oh, wait I do recognize that neckband you wear. Something experimental from your sister Becka? She showed me this thing yesterday. How dirty."