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Madame Brunet (LingeringDesire & CharmSnake)

They made love a few more times, but nothing like that second time. Jacquelyn wore a secret smile, ones she gave him when she thought he wasn't looking. Andre was a good lover and a good husband, he didn't beat her and though he was rough around the edges, she was certain they would do alright.

She caught on with the house work and in the few days she'd been there she had made the house shine. Of course, she still saw the mouse and screamed just as loudly as the first time. Her cooking had improved a bit, she felt but it wasn't up to par with her bread yet.

Having done the laundry earlier she was now inside waiting for her dough to rise and mending clothes. It seemed he had so many holes and tears that he had only one good pair of breeches. The items she'd received as a gift were wonderfully handy and she moved through the items with ease. Jacquelyn wanted a book or two to keep sharp, but she hadn't asked Andre yet. She wanted to wait before asking him for things, especially after the gift of the scissors.

No one had stopped by in a while, and she was rather lonely, she was used to having many people around. But, here it was just the two of them.

Her daily schedule was nice, before the sun was hot she weeded the garden and then started the laundry, so by the time it was up in the air it was swinging on the line. Then she made them quick lunches which they ate outside. Then she would plan for dinner, knead the bread and then sweep the house and make the bed and all that. Then she'd work on the sewing and mending and folding and putting the clothes away. Then dinner and washing it all up, then she'd work on her dress or a new shirt before bed.

She wanted a tub, to bathe in. Something big enough for the two of them, she knew it would be a while. for now she used the pail and warm water with a rag and a cake of soft soap. Someday, when the water was warmer she'd talk her husband into going with her after dinner. She wasn't sure she was heavy enough not to float away.

Looking up from her mending of a button on a shirt she saw Andre coming through the door. Looking up puzzled she thought she might be late for dinner. But hearing him, she jumped up and wiped her hands. Smoothing her hair back she gave the man a little curtsey. Smiling up at him and Andre she nodded. "Bon jour father... yes everything is well." She blushed and held Andre's arm shyly.

"Please let us step outside where it is much cooler..." She offered and moved around them and back out into the yard, into the shade. She knew how Andre was, but she wasn't sure how to rid them of the man. "Was there something we could do for you, father?" She asked. He was handsome, much to handsome to be a man of the cloth, she thought. He was also fairly young, closer to her age than Andre was, she mused.
 
The three of them stepped back out into the sunshine.

"I've just come by to see how you are doing together," the priest responded.

"We are doing fine," said Brunet as he picked up his hatchet and resumed splitting kindling.

"And everything is well with you, Madame?" Sevigny turned his attention to Jacquelyn. He eyed her and seemed pleased with her color and stature, as he had been advised of her slight state upon arriving. He noted her able spirit.

André allowed his wife to answer on her own. Perhaps this would satisfy the vicar and he'd be on his way. Methodically he continued his work, wedging the blade into the next stick of wood and gently tap-tapping down until it split in two and fell away. He picked up the next stick and repeated.

"Do you have plans for a family?"

André paused a moment. "We have many plans," he said eying the woodwork laying about the yard. Then he tapped the next stick a bit harder, enough to split the little hunk of kindling in a single stroke, signalling his discomfort with the priest's encroaching conversation.

"I hear that you have made friends with les Chabots," the priest changed the subject. "Jean-Philippe et Louise are faithful members of the congregation. They never miss Sunday mass." He paused to gauge Brunet's response but Brunet just kept tapping bits of kindling into smaller bits. "It would be good to see the two of you there as well."

"I don't know," Brunet would not commit an answer. "There is much to do here."
 
Her attention turned to her husband, he was coated in sweat from his tasks. Tonight she would ask him to go with her into the water to bathe. It would wash and cool them before dinner. A smile floated up to her lips as he spoke. But, the man seemed more interested in her. It was off putting and unnerving.

Her hands clenched, she peered at Andre. He said nothing so her gaze shifted. "I-I am well and am thankful to have found such a good man for a husband.." She said with a smile in Andre's direction, he was still splitting the wood.

The question the vicar asked caused her hands to fall to her abdomen and a blush to cross her cheeks. Jacquelyn would have stepped to him, but the man was in the way and Andre was hard at work. She knew her place was quietly by his side, but the manner of questioning was uncalled for. It seemed the man knew and changed his question.

biting her lip she stood at his side. She would loved to have attended mass with Louise and the other women in the town. It would lead to making friends and then... then Andre would be upset. She moved to the line and checked the clothes, some were still damp. Removing the dry ones she smiled at the vicar and watched him leave as she carried the clothing back into the house. "Safe travels."

Ducking into the house she finished up with her tasks there. Maybe she could broach the subject of church with him later, in an after sex conversation or before bed when they were tired and winding down to sleep. She started on dinner soon after and hoped he'd be in good spirits tonight, even after the visit from the vicar.
 
Perhaps sensing that he was intruding, the vicar bid au revoir and left.

Brunet continued splitting wood until a pile had haphazardly amassed at the foot of the stump. His shirt clung to his sweaty skin as he gathered up what he could hold and carried it into the house to add it to the dwindling pile against the wall inside the house. The chore required multiple trips.

Then he set to work laying planks into the floor of the henhouse, tapping them into place with hammer and nail. Nails were expensive and so only every sixth board was actually hammered in. The sun was setting. He'd do the walls tomorrow and start the roof.

There was a handful of splinters left around the chopping stump. He took these to the fire pit, a ring of stones on slightly higher ground several yards to the left of the garden. Then he took a splinter of wood to the house and held the end of it in the stove until it held its own flame. With this he started a fire in the pit. Once the fire was alive and burning on its own he returned to the house, washed up in the basin and changed his clothes.

"No need to cook this evening," André told his wife. The fish that he had caught that morning had been filleted and laid on a board. "When you are ready, bring a blanket out to the fire and a couple of cups to drink." Then he went back outside and took the axe from the stump. The orange flame flickered brightly in the fading dusk. Approaching the brush he selected a couple of thumb-thick branches that he deemed straight enough, hacked them off and returned to the fire pit.
 
She went back to her mending after pulling together a plan for that evenings meal. Her bread was already cooking on the hearth and through the thin walls of the home she could hear Andre continue with splitting the logs. Her eyes landed on him when the door opened. His shirt clinging to his form and sweat dripping off his face. She felt something in her rise up. Jacquelyn felt the need to pull him to her and show him how much she cared. They hadn't been intimate in a couple days, with him wearing himself out like this. It was eat, work, eat, work, eat and sleep, she was more than ready to have her husband. Giving him her special smile, she blushed and hoped he knew what she meant.

After this she moved to the yard and pulled down the dried clothes, folding them to put away inside. Her eyes lingered on his bent form in the area she knew would be their chicken coop. They were making progress, but this didn't mean children yet.. Even if she longed for that link between them, for surely that would part his lips with a happy smile. Surely he would pull her close and whisper that he loved her. The young wife longed to hear such things from her husband.

Sighing she tidied up the house and then watched as he came in and washed up, earlier than normal. His words caught her off guard. "Oh, that sounds lovely. I will be there in a moment." Once the door closed she quickly washed and changed, then gathered a blanket and two cups. She joined her husband outside, "should I spread this out, like a picnic or use it to keep warm when the light fades?" She asked him softly. However, she moved closer and pressed her lips to his, first. It balanced her world a bit.
 
André let her kiss him. It was her thing. She was affectionate that way. He had to lean down to do so. The fire popped and blazed.

"Give me the blanket," he instructed and reached to take it from her. Then he judged the distance from the fire at about the length of the stick, unfolded the blanket and shook it out. It billowed upward in the air and settled as he spread it on the ground. "Sit," he told her.

He went back to the house for his hunting knife and while there filled an empty jar with water and grabbed his flask of whiskey, then returned to join his wife on the blanket. He sat cross-legged and picked up the first stick. The heat of the fire was stark and dry and it flickered in the sharp blade of the knife. He began whittling the end of the stick.

"So, you are from France?" he asked without looking up from his work. "What part?" The question was almost a non-sequitur as he wouldn't have known one region from another, although he did know that Paris was the great seat of power. He was however keen to know something about her background. "Do you have family?"

The end of the stick was soon pointed and he put it down to start on the other.
 
She smiled up at him, handing over the blanket. Jacqueline hoped that by showering him with affection he would learn to return the favor. She was glad he didnt seem to mind. Watching rhe blanket unfurl she rubbbed her arms, quickly she sat down on the blanket and watched him. He ducked inside the house and she took advantage of the heat from the fire.

She was barefoot and stretched her feet out toward the warmth. Before tucking them under her and leaning in his direction. He was too far away to lean against but later they could be close, she hoped.

He asked her about herself, it wasnt something they did so it surprised and thrilled her. "I am from Paris, my pappa was a noble." Her voice was soft, tears came when she thought of Ana, swallowing back the emotion she proceeded. "I had an older sister, Ana, she would have probably been Tremblay's wife had she survived the travel here. We, we were best friends." Licking her lower lip she started into the fire, "What of you, do you have family?" She assumed he was from the area.
 
"What of you, do you have family?"

"No," André answered flatly. He whittled a couple more chips from the end of the stick before continuing. "Mon pere was never meant to be a father. He was a trapper until he crippled his leg out in the bush. Before that, ma mere left to visit son frere in Strathcona and never returned. I have une soeur somewhere. Probably now with ma mere." He eyed the end of the stick and seemed satisfied with the crude point that he had honed.

"I am sorry about your sister." André put the sticks and knife down and poured himself some whiskey into one of the cups. Then he paused and looked at Jacquelyn before filling hers. He looked her way, taking her in as she leaned on one arm. The fire reflected in her eyes and shimmered in her golden hair.

"If you want," he offered, "but this is not really for women." He had brought the water as well with this in mind.
 
She listened to him, and knew it was why he was the way he was. "She would have hated it here." She voiced quietly. She picked up one of the sticks he had whittled and spun it between her fingers. Biting on her lower lip as he poured the alcohol and looked at her. They had attraction and tension between them, she knew she wanted him.

Taking the cup from him she sniffed at the pungent liquid. Tipping it back she sipped. Coughing as she felt it burn all the way to her belly. "Its warm," she said and sipped again. Moving closer she smiled at him, "The henhouse is coming along nicely."
 
The corner of his mouth curled up ever so briefly when she choked down the whiskey as he figured that she would.

"Do you still want the rest of it?" he asked her. "Or would you like to water it down?"

"The henhouse is coming along nicely."

"After the henhouse we will have a latrine," André remarked. His head gestured off into the darkness in the direction of the intended location. "I will need to dig a very big hole," he referred to the task that he was not looking forward to but needed to be done.

André rose again and disappeared into the dark back towards the cabin. A minute later he returned with a small stack of firewood under one arm and the board of fish fillets in the other. He resumed his cross-legged position and let the kindling tumble down next to him. Then he stoked the flames with one of the sticks and placed on a couple of pieces of fresh fuel.

"Good thing about a fire," he said. "No bugs." The fire blazed bright yellow with new life and embers popped and meandered up, buffed about on skyward currents. "Also, no wild animals. They will always turn from the smell of the smoke," André explained and took another swig of drink.

Brandishing one of the newly pointed sticks, he skewered two fillets onto the end with a couple of inches gap in between and extended them over the fire.

"What happened to your Papa?" he asked.
 
Biting her lip she shook her head, each drink was easier. "Might I help? The house shines I can still do laundry, but with the two of us it will go faster." He didn't answer, she wasn't sure if it had been the right thing to ask. However, this was their homestead and together they would make it home.

She watched him go and took a bigger drink of her whiskey. Upon his return her cup had only water. "Both of those are ideal." She loved the smell of the wood burning and the feel of the heat on her skin. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, felt the tears gather.

"They took him and ma mere away, put us away. When i was moved to the convent Ana told me they had been put to death, this was right before we were brought here." Jacquelyn wiped her face. "I was too young to understand what was going on and no one explained it to me."
 
The sun had set and all around the trees were but black silhouettes in the sliver of moonlight. The sky was a dome of stars. A fish jumping in the river made a small distant splash.

As his wife spoke he kept his eyes on the fish. A drop of oil gathered at the tip of one of the fillets and fell into the flames. When he saw a small plume of smoke, he pulled the fish back to look it over, then extended it back to the flames. The smell of the fish starting to roast filled his nostrils and whet his appetite. André reached down for another drink and noticed in his wife's voice that she was tearing up as she told her story.

"What did your Papa do for a death sentence?" he asked. he didn't know anything about the intricacies of French politics, but he did know that there was a people's revolution and he also knew that the common man was not incorruptible.

André withdrew the fish to inspect it again. If it got too soft it would come apart on the stick and fall into the flames. They were nearly ready. He held them back out for a little longer.
 
He didn't offer comfort, just kept asking questions that she couldn't answer. "He was a noble and I suppose the people revolted and took him out of charge. My papa was a kind man, but I have been told he was arrogant. As are most french Noble's. But, I don't know... I was too young and in the convent they didn't spread the news to us."

She watched him, the fire light painting his skin bronze. Turning her head at a sound in the water, she moved closer to her husbandtouching his arm gently she smiled and looked at the fish. The care he took in cooking their meal, her stomach rumbled as the smell hit her nose.

The emotion of dredging up the past hit her hard. "Andre, when might we have a child?"
 
So she was noble - or at least had been. Brunet was well aware of the distinctions between rich and poor. The rich did everything that they could to keep themselves rich and the poor poor. He knew the of the events in France that the poor had overthrown their rich tyrants, but he was not so dumb to believe that the poor (or the select bold among them at least) had not just stolen the riches and become tyrants themselves. Such a righteous rebellion, indeed. Now the rich had become the poor and the new rich were doing everything that they could to keep the old rich poor. Part of that had been to make old blood claims disappear, and so here was his new wife, banished from her coddled sanctuary, purged from her homeland. He had pieced it all together.

The church had played their part of course, as church and crown walk ever in step in any land, each with a hand to scratch the other's back, drawn and held together by mutual power. Yet the union was only as useful as it was convenient. None of the centuries together mattered once the king had lost his throne. The church dropped him and his courts like a broken bottle to sip from the new one. Despite this, there would be no flies on the church, selling off young women in a foreign land without care of the scruples of the men who would buy them. It would be scandalous to do so - unless of course they were native, that could be gotten away with - but these women were not only white but even catholic. Indeed, Brunet had paid for his wife, but only in practical terms. In letter of contract he had merely funded her passage. Anything could be justified given enough money and the right documentation - and they called these institutions and their papers civilized.

So now this once rich princess was his poor wife, to have and to hold. Although they weren't entirely poor. It was true that Brunet had little money, but he did have a piece of land. Anyone who had land would never be so poor. He was smart enough to know that.

Taking the fish from the flames, André judged the first round to be done. It was hot enough to the touch that he pinched his fingers to it ever so briefly and pulled them away with a wince and a nod.

Andre, when might we have a child?

She had caught his attention and he lifted his chin almost sharply to look her in the eye. Some people have children without intention. Others try for years in vain. André took a moment before he spoke.

"When nature decides."

Sliding the first fillet off the end of the stick and balancing it upon the blade, he passed it over to Jacquelyn. Freshly cooked and hot of the knife she may have eaten equally well in France but never better. He took another sip of whiskey, then raised the other fillet on the end of the stick to his lips, blew on it tenderly and nibbled at the edge.
 
She knew her question garnered his full attention, the sharp way his head lifted and how his eyes pierced hers. Jacquelyn wondered what was going through his head, so quiet was her husband. She worried no answer would come, perhaps he didn’t want children. Her heart ached.

“When nature decides?” She asked looking him over, “Isn’t it when God decides?”

She took the fillet and slid it onto her small plate, the flesh was too hot to eat. Blowing on the flesh she smiled at him, “Either way, God or nature, I wish to have one or more.” She took a bite of the white flesh, now cooled enough to eat. Chewing and then swallowing, it was lovely. “Might we try again tonight… it has been some time and I miss you having me.”
 
"Might we try again tonight ... it has been some time and I miss you having me."

It was bold talk for a woman, let alone an apparently noble one at that, to speak so openly about sex. Besides that, what did she think would follow a campfire dinner, a game of cards and retire to separate beds? Brunet supposed that there were far worse things in the world than a wife that wanted sex so frequently. His thoughts strayed to poor Hamel across the river whose wife laid out all the rules in their bedroom and doled out affections as miserly as a penny-pinching merchant paying a dogsbody for satisfactory chores completed. He couldn't help a smirk almost playful on the corner of his mouth.

The fish had cooled enough to eat and André took a bite. Then he removed a couple of small bones and bit again. It was very tasty and slid apart in sheets of pink meat. He looked over towards Jacquelyn. There was no wind that night but the fire created a draft that dragged loose golden locks across her orange firelit cheeks. Deep shadows in her neck and around her collar emphasized her skeletal stature.

"Eat," he urged his wife. "You want children, you need to get some fat on you."

Brunet finished his first course and prepared the stick with the last two morsels to hold over the fire. Regarding his wife again, he imagined the filling of her figure, the filling of her womb with child.
 
Having been raised by the nuns it was even more bold, but she didn’t know how things worked in regards to her asking for him. But, she wanted children and so she was willing to ask for the necessary items to get to that point. She was a new wife and unsure how it went, a few years spent with nobility didn’t make her any less human than anyone else. He seemed to give her question a bit more thought.

In the quiet she ate silently and listened to the water rippling past them. The fish was delicious but not too hearty that she was incredibly full. However, when he urged her to eat she smiled at him and munched on the pieces she had left. Jacquelyn had gained some weight in the time she had been married to him, but it wasn't enough. She hadn't been sick since the first day he brought her home, so things were looking up.

"If I ate too much there would be none left for you," She said, giggling afterwards.
 
If I ate too much there would be none left for you."

Brunet chuckled quietly to himself at the remark and took another swig of his whiskey. Then he took her by the ankle and brandished her stick of a shin just up into the firelight, turned it over and inspected its slightness.

"Mangez," he repeated and placed her foot back down.

The next two fillets were ready, roasted in their own oils over the flame. Between shots of whiskey he ate the first one, leaving the second on the board between them for his wife should she not yet be full. Brunet used the stick to stoke the flames and the ashen carcasses of spent fuel collapsing inwards caused a thrush sending crackling embers floating on twisting trajectories upwards to the stars. Then he reached out to place a teepee of fresh kindling around the pit. Emptying the whiskey flask into his cup, he drank some more, then began to unwrap his boots.
 
She gasped as he grasped her ankle, her dress rode up her leg exposing her flesh to him. Her thin cotton panties on display, she didn’t blush this time. Nodding as he told her to eat and sat her foot back down.

Smiling at her husband, Jacquelyn took the last fillet and began eating. She planned on eating anything he placed before her, she wanted to gain weight and get in the family way. Maybe it would happen sooner. Though the thoughts that he would have her after this made her smile and filled her belly with warmth.

Having finished her fish, she smiled at her husband and then turned her attention to the fire. “Here, let me…” She said and batted his hands away as she knelt before him. She slowly and steadily removed his boots one by one, pulling his socks off to. Then she rubbed his feet gently knowing they must be sore because of how hard he worked.

“May I stay over here, closer to you while you finish your drink?” She asked him quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment.
 
Jacquelyn finished her dinner and asserted herself at his feet, insisting on aiding his de-booting. Taken somewhat aback, how could he protest? André leaned back on his elbows as she removed his footwear and tugged at his socks. Then unexpectedly, she began to caress his bare feet, massaging them. Despite her weak touch he found it rather soothing. No one had ever taken such initiative upon him before. Normally he would not care for the fuss, especially with feet so sweaty at the end of the day, but something about her touch was found to be relaxing. Putting down his whiskey cup, his head began to loll upon his neck as she worked. Some spots begged for her to press deeper, the years of tension and toil yearning t be de-knotted from the flesh fiber and bone.

"May I stay over here, closer to you while you finish your drink?"

"Ouai," he said rather absently. He had almost forgotten his whiskey. At the reminder, he reached over and took another swig, then laid flat back on the blanket as the fire crackled. Her fingers moved as quietly and diligently as her demeanor and André decided that it was all right to let himself go just this once.
 
“I think I should like to make some herbed scrub and oils to really help and in the summer and autumn it will help keep the bugs away as well.” She smiled and rubbed harder, pulling his foot fully into her lap and making sure to work her fingers well over his toes as well as the arch. “You work very hard Andre, I can’t wait to help you plant some of the garden, perhaps go into town with you and trade for the seeds or plants. And as soon as the coop is ready, garner some chickens and be able to make you eggs for breakfast, bake and a number of other things.”

She had switched feet at some point, watching as her husband laid down upon his back. She gazed up at him, eyes lowered to enjoy the sight of him. He wasn’t ugly, so much as rough and he was very strong. His belly was flat but soft and his skin was tan from the times he went without a shirt. He was a good man too; the only incident had been that first night when he took her to bed. Since then she had come to know his ways and was able to work with them.

Finishing the task, she crawled up beside him and laid at his side, close but not touching. “Do you know much about the stars?” She asked, unsure if he was one of those that could navigate by them or not. Jacquelyn was uncertain if she should move closer, kiss him or just stay where she was. However, she did smell his whiskey on the air a bit and smiled.
 
She took his foot right into her lap, cradling it with care. Her fingers pressed into the dips and crevaces between the bones, releasing tension wafting up into the sky with the smoke of the fire. After a few minutes she switched feet, applying the same tenderness to his callused toes.

"Do you know much about the stars?"

"Some," he answered. "They rotate around," he said gesturing a lazy semi-circle with his hand. "Sometimes you can see that to tell the hour," he said. "That one in the middle always generally points north. Helps more in the winter than summer, as there is often sunset glow all night in June and July," he explained. "But journeying by sky only works when there are no clouds."

Jacquelyn had finished with his feet and was laying at his side. His mouth was dry so he sat up and finished off his whiskey. He looked down upon her form, her golden hair tinted orange in the flickering light of the flames. He'd had his meal and had his drink. He'd even had his feet cared for. Now it was time for his manhood to take its turn at the end of the day. Reaching over, he lazily groped her breast through the fabric of her garments. The flesh moved about under his fingers as he grew hard, then with the other hand he slipped up her thigh and into her unders to prime and moisten her entrance.
 
Laying at his side, she listened to him talk about the stars. She watched his hand arch across the sky and then to the star in the middle. It as the brightest of all of them in the sky. “Yes, I can see that having a clear sky would be best. I’m certain the stars help guide you on your fishing trips and maybe some trapping tasks.” She said gently, watching him sit up and finish off the whiskey. She felt his eyes on her and lowered her lashes as she smiled at him.

This look, she knew it. Jacquelyn was prepared to stand and head inside with her husband. But, Andre grasped her breast through her dress. She moaned softly, her lashes fluttering as he continued on in his touches. His other hand got into the act and slid right along her leg and under the last piece of fabric between his fingers and her skin. She whimpered as his finger dipped into her body and began thrusting. Her hips rocked upwards to greet his hand as her hand moved up against his hardness, rubbing through the fabric of his pants.

Sitting up she kissed her husband as nimble fingers unfastened his breeches. Sighing as her hand wrapped about his hard length. She was eager to have him and willing to show him how much as she stroked him. Her lips left his to moan again and again.
 
As her fingers found his hard shaft he gruffly pulled up the hem of her dress and yanked at her undergarments, one side, then the other, then back to the other as they slipped off her hips. After that, her legs were so thin that they pulled away easily. André rolled his body on top of his wife and buried his groin between her legs to find her entrance. His tip feeling moist heat, he pushed in, feeling the squeeze of her entrance about his glans and letting out a slow moan. Taking in another breath he pushed again, inserting himself further and allowing her wetness to lubricate his shaft before the next attempt. With one more shove he inched in as far as he could go, pressing his pelvis up against her mound with a grunt.

André took a moment to settle in, sliding a hand under her back and lifting her body just off the blanket to free her length of hair, fanning it out in flickering orange highlights around her face. Then he began stroking his cock into her, slowly and lazily enjoying her warm tight depths as his head nuzzled near her ear with whiskey on his heavy breath. The strokes gradually became longer until he pause a moment to hook an arm around one of her things and then the other arm around the other. Jacquelyn nearly folded beneath him, his face hovered over hers as he lifted his hips to let gravity take over.

"Ummf, mmh, umffg," he grunted as he leisurely humped her, his sack slapping against her bum.
 
In this moment she was reminded of their first night together. However, this night she was a willing participant. She worked on his pants while he tugged at her panties and tried to get off. It wasn’t hard and she had him out of his pants. She stroked his face tenderly when he climbed on her and then he slowly entered her, both groaning and moaning. She loved being with her husband intimately, it felt so right and as wet as she was, he should have known how excited she was.

Though he probably knew because she had asked for him. Deeper and deeper he wedged himself into her tight slit. She widened her legs for her husband. He lifted her and got her hair out from under her before he began to move within her depths. Her head tilted upwards to kiss his neck and moan into his ear as he thrust into her with slow and sporadic thrusts. He slowly got into a rhythm that was pleasing and caused her to whimper as her pussy squeezed around him.

Then he lifted her thighs and began to give her what she wanted. “harder Andre,” She pleaded up into his face. They had amazing sex on the table and in their bed. Tonight, because he had been drinking she wasn’t sure that he could give that to her. Perhaps it would always be this way, with him on top and guiding their actions, maybe it was supposed to be like this. She lifted her head and brushed her lips against his.
 
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