She was in her early thirties at the time. Her long naturally curly chestnut hair, hung down to the middle of her back. Her eyes were a sparkling haze... color, and her body was lithe, with lovely long legs and a tight bottom that accentuated itself when she wore her tight cutoff jeans as she often did during the hot afternoon hours.Despite her slender body, she had full firm breasts that pressed up tight against her shirt, making my manhood thicken whenever I thought too much about how they must. She was a Slave and must do as she was told, deeming no task too menial and no pain too great as long as her Mistress demanded it of her.The Lady Fortescue, meanwhile, was looking down at the poor Francine and laughing inwardly as she saw the sweat pour down that hateful tall body. She saw the muscles straining on those extended arms and tired shoulders and exulted to think of the agonies the poor wretch must already be suffering, a hundred yards into a six mile journey. The sun might be unable. More

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