Her hair was loose courtesy of the countless ways her hands had run over it. Her exercise and breathlessness made her thirsty. Contemplating a cup of ...ea, she left her presently claustrophobic, even if pleasant, quarters to go make a cup in the kitchen. Mrs Marsh slept above the stables where the servants’ place was. It would be selfish to call her just for tea.No sooner did she set foot in the hallway than she heard footsteps on the stairs. On the last tread, to be more precise. His tall frame. I was so sore between the legs I wondered if I could stand to have anything touch me down there. But I felt great. It wasn't the climaxes, either. I'd lost track of what had happened, who I'd done it with, or who I'd done it with. Guys focus on the climaxes; I'd learned to enjoy the process, too.I was too fogged out, too blessed out to be exact, to pay attention to such things as class. Something managed to percolate to the top, and I used a wall to lever myself upright. I had to get to class.. More

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