One could not tell that by simply watching him work. He spent his days beautifying the manor doors. The fence he built to keep deer from the garden wa... a work of art. Whether his father knew it or not, the boy had skill and vision when it came to making cold iron into beautiful, black art.At night, however, his work was of a different kind. He had his own cell in the stables, as did Jack. It became routine for Jack to attend Penelope's needs in her chamber, while her ladies in waiting skipped. My hands caressed the lotion in long, languorous strokes with intense, massaging pressures over the particularly rough patches, and with a lighter touch over particularly sensitive ones. Perhaps that was why, after I spread my thighs to massage the lotion between them, the glorious heat of the sunlight kindled an answering heat between my legs, and incited a moisture that had nothing to do with sweat. Sighing, I leaned back, enjoying the golden light sparkle on my very moist inner lips and the. More

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