With trembling fingers, she lit her oil lamp. ‘Shrouded by the night And by the secret stair I quickly fled The veil concealed my eyes While all wit...in lay quiet as the dead’ Feet bare, she padded down the stone stairs of her parents’ little house. Easing the wooden door open, she inhaled the clean night air, feet tickled by the dew-laden grass. Her mount was waiting in the paddock, she threw a rope bridle over the horse’s head, not bothering with a saddle. She mounted and pulled her cloak hood. It was a required need. I began to wear provocative tank tops that showed the curve of my heaving breasts, shorts that would entice him into looking directly at the forms of the fabric clinging to the pussy that so badly wanted his touch. I even showed him how flexible I could be during warm ups by stretching my legs apart and gripping my ankles. But yet he ignored me no matter how many times I “accidentally” brushed my leg against his or gripped my hand on those beautiful biceps when he said. More

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