The true story of Čachtice.

Orsolya sucked in a deep breath. The musk of the grofica filled in her nostrils like the sweet perfumes of Ofen-Pesth. She had only visited the grand city once and was intoxicated by the swollen brace of humanity (and the cherry por). The sights and sounds of that great cosmopolis were dwarfed by the triangle thatch that she eagerly shoved face into once again.

"Yes, yes, my child!" The grofica cried in ecstasy and somewhere in the back of Orsolya's mind, she felt the pleasant warmth of knowing that she was bringing such pleasure to her benefactor. That warmth was barely perceptible under the electric heat of desire. Her womanhood was dripping juice down her leg as she flicked her tongue along the grofica's creases. The throbbing vulva twitched and, as the grofica moaned low and husky Orsolya was rewarded with a splash of steaming fluid which she greedily lapped up.

The grofica relaxed, settling fluidly back into her lounge. "My dear Orsolya," she spoke lovingly, "you have done well for your mistress this day."

Orsolya laughed with delight and the grofica offered a magnanimous smile. "My only aim," Orsolya replied. The grofica was a beautiful woman, pale and slender. Her eyes were dark and mysterious, yet always with a subtle mirth, as though the world was her joke. Her hips and breasts were slim but rounded, with a feminine grace that far exceeded those of the lumpy, swollen Moravian girls. She was ageless in appearance but exuded youth and vigor, especially after a session like today's.

The grofica took her by the hand and led her from the room. She followed, doe-eyed and full of wonder. She'd been down this hall a thousand times, had given her mouth over to the grofica ten thousand, but it was new each time. Thus was the gift of her mistress, who spoke the words of Enoch into her. Now Orsolya walked with God until the day she would be no more. That day neither frightened nor excited her. Each day was to be experienced as a gift, and anticipation of the future would prevent her from fully savoring the present.

As her reverie faded, Orsolya looked around to see the other village girls. She wept with joy at their faces. They embraced her and the feeling of their soft breasts and slim legs against hers was enough to make her hunger again for fulfillment.

As Orsolya's dear friend Magdolna knelt before her and gently pulled on her garters, Orsolya's mind flashed to the days before this. Before the words of Enoch, when she had been a bitter, hungry village girl with many enemies and few friends.