And, perversely, this annoyed her. She, Francine, wanted to be the most wretched, the most despised. She wanted to be right at the bottom of the heap....She deliberately stumbled and allowed the parasol almost, though not quite, to fail to shade her Mistress. The whip struck her hard on the rump, several times, making her shriek. She felt that her own position as the lowliest of the low had been regained - for a time.Francine began to feel so thirsty that she began to pray for water - even a drop. I stood to get better leverage and to answer her question, minus any words. I quickly unbuckled my belt and fumbled my way to finally get my jeans undone. I pushed them down with my free hand unwilling to remove my right hand from its warm position at the top of womanhood. Clare kept her position, her eyes glued to my crotch. “Is this an adequate needle, do you think?” I said pulling my underwear down to my knees along with my jeans. “It’s a lot thicker than I expected,” she purred, admiring. The garden was crossed by a path of red gravel, edged by a border of thick box, of many years' growth, and of a tone and color that would have delighted the heart of Delacroix, our modern Rubens. This path was formed in the shape of the figure of 8, thus, in its windings, making a walk of sixty feet in a garden of only twenty.Never had Flora, the fresh and smiling goddess of gardeners, been honored with a purer or more scrupulous worship than that which was paid to her in this little enclosure.. I sat us up and pulled her in tighter. *“Lean back just a bit, keep me inside you.” I picked us up, turned us around and lowered her back to the makeshift bed. “You did wanna try this, didn’t you?”“Oh, yes.”*”Good, cause I love this position.”I started long stroking into her. Slowly at first. I could feel her moist, hot flesh, just above where I was inside her. I pushed my bush into her clit, then curved my back, shoulders forward, so my abdomen was pressing on her shaft. I was fucking her.
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