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By the movement of her legs, I could tell she was posing, trying to tease me. My hangover cleared, and a quiet tea did much to restore my spirits. Violette came in after three hours outside, crying, and slammed all the doors as she went up to her room. I met the Bishop at the bottom of the stairs around 7:30PM, where he looked rested and refreshed. He shook my hand and clapped me on the back. ‘Well, my boy, it’s just the two of us this evening. My dear little flower spent too much time in the sun this afternoon, and won’t be presentable until tomorrow. Her room smells like a vinegar factory. She presents her apologies and looks forward to seeing you again tomorrow. Delicate skin she has, like mine and her mother’s. I thought she’d learned. . .’ Our evening at the Café Ypres was convivial. I felt like I’d dodged another bullet. SUNDAY The Bishop was my guest for the Morning Prayer and Eucharist. My people filled the church for once, and Violette sat in the front row, demure and. This was something that Julie was worried would drop from their routine… the impassioned kissing and caressing, the pressing together of their naked bodies. But Greg seemed to want it as much as she did. Even when they were so wound up they could barely contain themselves, they always found time to kiss, touch, tease each other. Even if only for a few minutes. Then they were in bed, Julie straddling Greg, lowering herself onto his cock and riding him with wild abandon. She got as close to cumming on top of him as she could, then he rolled her on to her back and pounded her missionary style until she climaxed. Then she signaled Greg to let her up—it was just a tap, but somehow they both knew what all the subtleties meant now. He lifted his tall frame off of her, allowing Julie to roll to her hands and knees. Greg needed no further taps to tell him what to do. He quickly knelt behind her and slipped his shiny cock back into her, this time from behind. He thrust into her, over and.
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