Queen Laurel felt her own hands on the move, sliding onto his body, seeking their own holds. Her hands roamed over his strong chest as he pulled her c...ose, his lips so close to her own she could feel his breath upon them. His kiss sent a hot charge down her spine, igniting a flame of desire and passion in her loins. Not since her master had worked her so strongly on his machines had her sex felt so enflamed. But this time, her passion was only at its infancy. They stood near the thrones, alone. He held out a hand, calloused as if he had grown up swinging a pickaxe."Hi, I'm Mortimer Crippen, but folks generally call me Mort or Cripps. Do I call you Des or Dave?" Des will do fine ... err ... Mort."He pointed to a chair "Sit ye down, unless you would like to stretch out on the couch?" His accent was broad Norfolk; a dialect which a makes me giggle when I hear it, not as much as a Brummie accent makes me laugh but near enough. "The chair will do fine," I said and sat. He plonked himself. More

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