I strummed the head of my cock over her lips like guitar strings, each stroke giving it's own tone and vibration between us. Her clit was next, causin... Jenna’s hips to jerk with every contact, every gentle brushing touch and every heavy smack with my manhood. My shaft was pressed between her lips, sliding effortlessly between them, my hips thrusting and forcing her into the wall. She whimpered, frustrated, and squirmed. “Please…” she whined, and then gasped at the tug on her hair. “Please. Miss Worden could play, play brilliantly, and -- presumably -- had no harpsichord. Merely stating the problem made the solution obvious to him.It might seem less obvious to her. Miss Worden was not a professional musician; she was a professional governess. She was the orphan daughter of a clergyman and, thus, a gentlewoman -- one who might have ridiculous reservations about taking employment in a rather isolated bachelor establishment.It seemed to him, though, that bachelors, or at least. More

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