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She slowly took one of her fingers and circled my opening. Then she forced it just inside. No one has ever put anything inside of my ass before. She shoved her finger a little bit deeper. It made me feel a little weird. Then she took her other hand and place it underneath my balls. She moved my balls closer to her mouth and she sucked one of them right inside of her mouth under my cock. She then shoved her finger all the way up my ass. Her other hand then pushed two fingers underneath my ball sack where my muscle for my cock was. It made my cock flex even harder then it was. I let out a moan. It felt so good. Suddenly without any warning, she just stopped. She pulled her finger out of my ass. Pulled her other hand away and then my cock made a physical popping sound as she pulled it out of her mouth. She looked up at me still smiling and said, “There just one more place that I want you to cum.” While still on her knees, she turned around with her ass toward me and now on all fours.. "I dunno. Lots a'letters. I can't read, Miss Anne," she lied."What did you do with them, the letters I gave you to put in father's pouch?"She looked away. "Gib 'em to the mistress like she tole me." She clamped her lips and nodded twice, looking off to the side, avoiding the angry girl's eyes."You gave them to Mrs. Conroy, to my father's wife?" Anne was shocked, flabbergasted and then quickly furious, stamping her foot.Philippa nodded rapidly. "Yes'um."Anne waved her away, stomped back through the room, went to the door, changed her mind and came back to sit beside the confused young man. She snorted in anger. "What are you going to do now, my fine bogtrotter? A bath might do you some good." I'm still in the army, y'know. Got two weeks leave, t'visit home on account of this." He flicked at his dangling sleeve. "And I know I smell awful." Still in the army. But, but you can't shoot a gun. I mean can you?"He shook his head. "There's things to do, m'fine carroty-pated dell. And I could.
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”Hunting through the overfilled fridge, I excavated two thick pork chops and set about cooking.Through the kitchen window, light was fading. Rain fell in a steady drizzle yet the temperature was still hot, air suffocating. With pork on the cast iron grill, I opened slatted kitchen windows and turned on the ceiling fan hoping for air circulation.When we sat down to eat, Rory tilted her head and studied me. Eventually, I asked, “What is it?”“Where’s the wine?”“What wine?”“You said we could have wine with dinner tonight.”I couldn’t remember agreeing to that. While I never denied her alcohol in the theory that denying her at home would make her want to consume it away from home, wine was rarely served. Usually it would be a beer.“When did I agree to that?”“Yesterday, when we were sitting on the patio. I asked if we could have wine with dinner Friday night. It’s Friday night.”“You sure?” I asked.Rory’s eyes did their feline thing. She smiled, exposing her canines. “Which?” she asked. “That.

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