Just relax. You can trust me." She slid her hand up to his waist and unfastened the robe. She smiled a little, twisted smile, almost a smirk, and drop...ed her hand to his lap. She began a slow gentle stroking of his crotch. "We will just talk. You can tell me anything, and listen carefully to everything I say." Uh, ma'am. You shouldn't... Please don't do that!" Why?" She didn't pause even for an instant as she replied. "Do you not like my hand there? Doing this?" Aahh...yes. But it is getting me. Master Heathcoate passed the printed sheets to be cut and sewn into signatures for binding by a worker in fine leathers at the bindery in the next street.“Yes, Master Heathcoate,” said Amélie.“I do, too, sir,” added Sandrine.“Know your letters, do you? That’s what your father told me. Is that true?”The two women nodded.“You as well, Sandrine?” Heathcoate was not convinced an African woman could read.“Yes, sir,” answered Sandrine. With that she reached behind her to remove a sheet of text drying. More

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