As she is maneuvering her leg to bring her toes further down and against the bare, heated, swollen flesh of my cock, the waiter returns to take our or...er. We both take the briefest moment to compose ourselves, and her foot holds still right where it is. Her toes pressed against my dick.After she manages to place an order, and the waiter walks away, she shifts her foot, pressing hard against my dick, feeling my length. Stroking. Rubbing. Struggling to reach all the way down to my balls. Her face. Lady Beatrice was on the cot that was to have been Constance’s. The bruises on her fair skin had faded to a greenish-yellow, dappled here and there with smudges of blue. She had not made any effort to care for herself since the multiple rapes, save to nibble at food and use the privy. Her dark hair was a snarled mess, she was grimy, and her gown of apple-green silk was stained and rumpled. ‘Jean-Pierre,’ Constance said, and he flinched again at the sound of her voice. ‘I had hoped to speak to. More

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