The Prince moved down her body.
His belly dragged across her stomach. He reached her trousers. He pulled them. The leather came down her hips. The Count helped. They pulled the trousers down her legs. They threw them off the bed. She was in her smallclothes. White cotton. Simple. The fabric clung to the mound of her pussy. The shape of her lips was visible through the thin cloth.
The Lord pressed his face between her legs.
He inhaled. "She smells clean," he said. "Too clean. Let's dirty her."
He pushed his finger under the waistband of her panties.
He pressed against the bare flesh. The hair of her pussy was coarse against his fingertip. He found the clit. He rubbed it. She cried out. The sound was weak and broken. Her body was drugged but her nerves were awake. The sensation was direct and terrible.
"Please—" she sobbed. "I am sorry— I am sorry I laughed— please—"
