I didn’t look back, didn’t say a word, and he didn’t break the atmosphere. His hands worked me while his cock pumped in a fierce rhythm, as if I...was nothing more than an interesting toy he used for release. Every touch was gracefully rough, purposeful in intent. Every breath he took was calm, as if he was at ease and not fucking me into my own form of Valhalla. In sharp contrasts, my own breaths were punctuated with gasps and whimpers of desire, and I shouted loudly when he drove me to another. I had not been to the manor born and had not had the benefit of much education. In point of fact, I could at that time barely read and knew no language well except my native tongue and a smattering of French.And that is how I presented myself one afternoon on a visit to the Woodhouse manor. We had tea and her father disappeared. I was surprised that he left us alone. Miss Woodhouse noticed my reaction. "Don't mind Father," she said. "He isn't worried about my virtue, sure as he is that I will. More

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