I turn my head. A dark skinned man stops close by, he wears wire rimmed glasses and an expression of concentration. He searches on a top shelf, retrieves a book, leaves. Obie curls his fingers in between my legs. I'm lush, waiting. He pushes a finger into my slit and languidly strokes all the way upward, missing the nub of my clit. I ache, unfulfilled. He pushes two fingers into my sopping folds, past my lips, into my vagina. Once again he curls his digits, only this time they are inside me, searching. It works, I jerk forward, impaled on his probing hand. He rubs and thrusts. It's delicious. I'm not breathing right. I've forgotten our study, I want to push the books aside and haul him up, remove his lovely cock from within red corduroy trousers and feel him slide inside me. My mouth is open, my stomach muscles beneath my singlet feel so tense they might jump and snap. My breath is so shallow it feels as though I am holding onto it. I might melt. His fingers slide out of me, they. Lady Cordelia was fully aware of the cross-currents of sexual tension sweeping the pews around her. In her own way, she was much attuned to the urges of appetites long suppressed by the fear of eternal damnation and the condemnation of rumor-mongering peers. She had many sins to atone for but had no intention of curtailing her nocturnal impulses until she was much closer to her final breath.In all honesty, the good lady was much impressed with the handsome Sir Lawrence and she harbored some dark thoughts about his possible needs for feminine companionship whilst a guest in the privacy of her castle. It was during that season of the year when her disinterested spouse was depleting the nearby forest of abundant game with the help of subordinates and sporting neighbors from near and far. Needless to say, she was in a mood of disappointed boredom and the tempting Knights Templar was a dish she was wont to turn down. Her crafty mind began to construct a court-styled intrigue that involved.
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