Fiona's tits are hot

“So, Padma,” said Governess Augusta, with her entourage, standing outside the spice shop. “What do you have for me today?”

“A special treat,” said Padma, as Fiona burst squealing out from behind the bead curtain, shouting “MY TITS ARE HOT!” at the top of her lungs. She grabbed a large brass jug full of cream from the nearby dessert shop, and poured it all over her naked breasts as the Governess and all the sensible bureaucrats who followed her around stood watching, aghast. The sweet shop owner was doubled over with laughter, as were all the other purveyors of fresh fruits and saris and tea and chutneys and perfumes and songbirds and all the other treasures of the decadent and mysterious East.

“Who,” said the Governess, coldly, “is that uncivilised naked savage?”

“MY TITS ARE HOT! MY PUSSY’S HOT! I NEED CREAM FOR MY HOT PUSSY! I… ah. Hello, Governess.”

“Fiona,” said the Governess, shaking her head sadly. “You ought to have let Padma tie you up.”