She pushed my legs apart, opening myself up her. She lowered herself until she was a breath away from my crotch, causing me to let out stifled squeals...with every exhalation. Then she plunged herself into me, sinking her tongue between my velvety soft pussy lips. She pushed herself further into me tasting me and all of my juices before focusing her attention on my apex of pleasure. ‘Fuck! This is better than masturbating on the washing machine!’ Her tongue explored my sexuality further than I. Her cheeks flushed as the last of her gown fell free, like the last toppled banner of the House of Marchone, pooling in its defeat to the mettle of the House of Aquee around her bound and spread feet. Her shock was interrupted as a black glove thrust the dagger that had tattered her gown into the ancient wood of the banquet table next to her ear. Marquaise shook her head to catch a glimpse through the shroud of her own dark red locks at the gloved hand, it slowly clapped into its mate and she. More

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