You keep pace working my breasts like I work your dick. I slip my hand under my leg, cup your balls, squeeze and roll. You bite me. I like it. You lik... it. I do it again. You do it again. I cry out. Startled from your fantasy you look down. I’m spread eagle or as close to it as I can get in the tub, the shower head positioned in the lower holder - yes there is a reason for that thing - is pointed at my pussy. My sopping wet pussy. It’s pulsing, hitting me just right. I cry again. Again. I. This was, of course, unexpected and very alarming. The family were obviously well off by local standards, growing many hectares of grapes for the two great wineries, Chateau Musar and Caves Ksara, but the chastity of women was a matter of life and literally, death. Surely. Safiya was looking amused at my discomfiture, not least because she glanced at my erection beginning to be obvious in my trousers."Ne voulez alarme pas!" she laughed. But I was. (I'll stop using French now; I've forgotten so. More

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