《Tasìa Del Alma-Gris》2.49 Book Two: The Premie Harvest
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After the Argentinian finally got her giggles and catcalls out of her system, enthusiastically, Felicité yelped out, "okay, that was fun. Ciao! Oh, Tasìa don't forget, you'll be in Asunción soon right?"
Tasìa answered, "Did you get my data? It certainly looks that way."
"Be sure to make an appointment with the Human Rights Commission."
"Don't you worry, I haven't forgotten."
The drone backed off several feet and it shut down completely.
That the drone went silent gave Tasìa some sense of comfort. She could see the wiring cut out of the fence. There was no reason it would do that unless it had been controlled by a third party who had not established access to the gates.
Tasìa shrugged it off. She had more immediate concerns. She stood up as she examined the shirt. Her top and sports bra were ruined.
She took them off and smiled as she looked straight down.
Somewhat ample.
Truthfully, her small frame and curvy rib indentions made her boobs stand out to an aesthetically advantageous extent.
On Annebél's exomorphic torso, they would not get nearly as much attention.
Tasìa looked around. What was she going to do to cover them?
She had a few ideas. But something else was equally problematic.
She looked down. Her trousers were soaked in urine. So was the rest of her skin. It was beginning to smell pissy too.
Tasìa took her boots off and then stripped off everything else. Thank goodness the netting on her fanny pack was impermeable.
She found the French cut panties that had she thrown in it at her home. There were two large bandannas, and a pink scarf, all garments she liked to wear when she went cruising the backroads on her bike.
Her figure was so small, the items would easily cover up her naughtiest of bits. The pink scarf would substitute for a bra, the bandanna of Paraguay's flag would make for a colorful top. The solid red bandanna, with black script and ornate design would make for a slightly risque skirt. All quite doable.
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Feeling confident now, she made light of her situation.
Here I stand, the Queen of Resourcefulness, made vulnerable to the elements. What shall I do to compensate?
She remembered when the bin trough fell, liquid spilled out. Liquid that smelled like grain alcohol.
Tasìa put her boots back on, and then she carefully walked amongst the gravel and broken glass. As luck would have it, she found a bottle of vodka in the ruin of discards with merely the pour top sheared off.
Tasìa carried it back over to her bike where she had left her clothes, and she slipped back out of her boots. The back of her T-shirt was dry. Tasìa ripped that part out of it.
She poured some of the vodka through her hair, then over her face, shoulders, and boobs. She rubbed it into her skin.
She poured more vodka over her abdomen, pubes, and thighs, continuing until her entire body was covered.
In her fanny pack were a few more packages of sanitizer wipe napkins. Tasìa explored every nook and cranny of her body once more with a pair of wipes in her hand.
She finished by drying off with the rag she made from the T-shirt.
She inspected her body. As a result of her alcohol-based scrub down the pubes looked outlandishly tangled.
With a tisk and shake of her head, Tasìa admonished herself.
"You are no longer in prison, girl. You've got to maintain some control."
Still, to her satisfaction she now smelled fresh, Tasìa grabbed the vodka bottle. She was about to pour it out and throw it back in the trough when she noticed the label.
Son Délice Sauvage, 1953
She recalled a bottle of the rare French brand from that very decade, which occurred over a hundred years beforehand, once sold for 36,000 USD.
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"Add that to your many, many accomplishments, Tasìa. You have just taken the world's most expensive whore bath."
Tasìa realized she was mimicking the voice of her friend Este-Oeste. Oh, how she missed fucking around with that big goof.
Tasìa poured some of the very high-end vodka into her palm, and she sipped it.
Tasìa let out a squeal, and she just stood with her mouth open ajar. Never had her throat burned so delightfully. The taste was unreal, like a zest rind peeled from the very Biblical forbidden fruit itself.
Grabbing the last beer bottle she had finished off, Tasìa carefully poured the vodka into it. There was enough vodka left to fill the entire bottle. She resealed the cap with a brisk twist.
She couldn't wait to show it off to Annebél, who was so proud of her French roots.
Tasìa hopped on the Virago, ready to leave. She soon tensed up. The ribbed leather seat felt cold and oddly textural against the sensitive skin of her vulva.
"Oh, yeah . . . I still need to get dressed."
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