"Don't jest, monsieur!" I mean it," I insisted with moral empathy, for I understood that she'd be upset having lost both of her parents. "I said that ...'m sorry, and I am." But don't you realize who mother is? Even now?"I shook my head."Monsieur," she said. "I may be the daughter of the Marquis de Lyons, but my mother was his wife. She was Isabelle Douviere."Time stood still. "His wife?"I felt the spiders scurrying towards the cracks and searching for cover. There was no past or future, just a. She got up.All the while, horny thoughts were running wild in her head, unfulfilled desires mingling with her lust-filled fantasies. She went to the restroom. In the bathroom, she entered the stall and sat on the seat. She then started to squeeze her nipples.She started playing with herself again, imagining what he would do to her in bed. She was way too far gone for this bar. She needed sex now. She couldn’t wait any longer. Nearly an hour passed, and she was still waiting. She knew he wasn’t. More

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