“Go away,” Miss Rochester insisted.“Does our love mean nothing?” the maid asked plaintively.“Oh please shut up, Geoffrey has asked me to mar...y him and I said yes if he actually manages to transport me to heaven.” Miss Rochester replied.“But what about me!” the maid pleaded.“Raise your skirts and form a line,” I suggested.“Your cream is all mine now Geoffrey,” Miss Rochester insisted, “But perhaps I shall lend you to my maid occasionally to keep her content, but for now let us conjoin. Then her lapping gets longer and deeper, a leopardess drinking at a water hole. Her tongue is spiralling up and down the length, sometimes quickly other times slower, concentrating on the underneath and flicking and lapping at his tightening balls. She looks up at him, smiling, wanton. Shall I carry on? He nods, smiling too, entranced too by the dipping movement of her chestnut curls against his skin. Her delicate, soft fingers collect his tumescent end, like the bud of a freesia as she. More

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