The Bumhampton Chronicles Chapter 2: (Part 15)

She was the epitome of aristocratic womanhood sprung whole from oil paintings of old. Of medium height, with walnut tresses coiled atop softly rounded serene hazel-green eyes, her pale complexion gazed with utmost confidence of her station. Miss Frothinglips was Lord Caneshard’s ward, social hostess and, with supercilious hauteur, regularly drained the footman of inferior seed. All this, and perfect diction. I hated her. I tucked the pail in my crook and with careful steps made my way near the floor. Chilled silken palms lightly slid over my ankles, up my calves and near my dampened thighs. “You are aroused.”

This link goes to The Bumhampton Chronicles category so you can catch up at any time.

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Spank you very much

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