Hers were impossibly warmer than the first time, but still just as soft and full. The lightest pressure of my tongue easily parted them, and then her ...ongue met mine and invited it to dance.My hand slid to her neck, and my fingers slid into her hair. The slightest whimper escaped her throat, and our heads turned as our tongues dueled.Her hands had been politely resting on my sides. They both slid to my ribs, and her fingers dug into my flesh as she tried to pull herself closer. Her tongue. It's against my nature. But thewoman's screams were so - so piercing, they touched my very soul. What month was it? November? November, yes. One of those cold dank nights,on just this side of frost, and a clinging fog was swirling down the hill fromthe village to my cottage. That afternoon I had been constructing a set ofwardrobes up at the Manor for the new Mistress who was due to arrive any day,but I had made sure I was home early, armed with bread from Mrs Potts and abowl of vegetable soup. More

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