'Andwhere is the pianoforte, Mademoiselle Newington?' I asked in French. Shelowered her eyes and looked at me through her lashes. 'It is this way, Ma...emoiselleSabine.' Her gown was of the latest English fashion and rustled as she walked.I could see her young body compressed and moulded by the laced stays theEnglish still seemed to favour. Her attire was in marked contrast to mine- a charming white taffeta with a flounce around her bust in a colour reminiscentof wild daffodils, while my gown. She parts her legs wider for more room to work.Her eyes flutter and close for a moment as the thrill races up her spine, then they return to the story, as she continues to tease her pussy, even more, the fabric of her panties caressing her hand as she caresses herself. She is getting wetter now, as the musky scent of sex starts to fill the room. Another moan escapes her lips as she rubs her pussy and clit faster. Her eyes scan the story although it’s getting harder to focus on the words, her. More

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