Quadrivial Quandary:  Logophiles, Rejoice!  Each day we give you four unusual words.  Can you fit them all in one illustrative sentence?

Attempts to resolve the Quandary:


And that was when Sir Parlane MacFarlane rolled off of Christiane like the loser in a log-rolling contestant, and, his still tumescent cock wagging above his belly, said: “a woman is just a woman, but a tight-arsed boy is a Fuck!” and he could have sworn that Christiane blushed to her roots, but her face was still flushed with the exertion of the fucking she had just had, and she beamed at him with all the pleasure of satisfaction at satisfying a man, a Real Man, an 800-year-old Real Man who put Knickers (her husband) and his friends to shame: oh, they might be inventive and make use of all sorts of toys and gewgaws, but to keep their end up they all had recourse to Viagra, which Sir Parlane most certainly did not need: five loads of cum in the course of the night, and the others had only managed one each; he hud come (or cum!) suddenly into their lives, into her body! out of the clear blue yonder like an Earth-grazing heavenly body – did that mean he would so suddenly disappear? she fervently hoped not! she suddenly realized that she must stink like a whore's fanny, but before she had time to roll off the bed and head for the en-suite, Sir Parlane had taken hold of her head and pushed it down towards his groin, so that she only had to open her mouth and employ her tongue, like dealing with a winkle from the fishmonger, but this was no winkle, but a virile and vigorous cock and he was almost instantly giving her a hard throat-fuck; where does it all come from? she wondered, and taking hold of his bulging baw-sack she was struck, not for the first time that night, with some awe at the size and hardness of his testicles – he was certainly the best-hung man she had ever encountered and she shut her eyes and immersed herself in the pleasure of being used: she knew that was all she was, a receiver for what men put into her, and admitting that she was damn good at it made her glow, and she felt and tasted the rush of his semen from his rock-cock, as it flooded her mouth and throat and she swallowed as fast as she could, but there was so much that the overflow dripped into his pubic hair and when he patted her head to let her know he was finished, she felt like the young heroine of a Bildungsroman, being taught all the art and craft of pleasing a man, so she sucked up as much as she could before collapsing beside him! oh, she really was a true cumslut, born to serve men with every part of her body, and the knowledge that she could serve and please someone so exotic as Sir Parlane (Sir Parlane, the name a legend in Scottish debauchery and now a real live and ardent fucker) while, for his part, MacFarlane was similarly well-pleased: he was alive and well with a rampant cock and productive balls and though not yet free, he had enjoyed the best night in 800 years – that was, if his camp-followers were to be believed: if this was, in truth, The Year of Our Lord 2016; he did not doubt them, though it was impossible to comprehend, so far as he could see, his face in the glass was exactly as it had been in Melrose Abbey in 1216, the last that he remembered, himself and Dominic standing by their horses making ready to ride back to Edinburgh, when something like a bolt of lightning had turned everything black, until he opened his eyes – and thinking it only a few hours since – and found himself being shaken into consciousness by a man who claimed to be Duncan Doubleday, a descendant of his own Doubleday (which, of course, was impossible – the only child likely to bear the name Doubleday might have been born of Dominic's wife, but it was his own MacFarlane seed that he had planted in her womb – but what does it say on the Text House in Denholm? hadn't he seen it built just last year and hadn't he been Guest of Honour at the orgy to celebrate it's completion? Tak Tent o Time; All Was Others, All Will Be Others! Ha! and see, I live to prove the admonition False – I can truly eat my cake and have it yet – I must send word to Sir Jesmond, or his descendants: the wording shall be struck down and re-cast: All Was Mine, All Will Be Mine, To The End o Time!

(by MissTeriWoman)
The Quandary for Wednesday, July 20, 2016 consisted of: Challenge: use all four words together in one illustrative sentence.

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