The delight of feathery kisses trailing across your taut midriff, over your navel and up to the supple swell of your developing bosoms. Your breasts, it was those soft mounds that your imagined lover would focus their sinful attention on, ravishing your chest with their lascivious tongue.
These unwomanly thoughts, these impure desires are what occupied your mind as your hand was busy between your thighs. Your digits thrust amateurishly into your folds while you stifled a girlish moan with your pillow.
This was the fifth time in as many days that you found yourself sweating and panting while vigorously rubbing your womanhood or pawing at your breasts like some depraved harlot. Each time you had done this you found yourself overcome with shame after the act, but the ecstasy, the sheer joy that you felt during your depravity was simply too intoxicating.
All of this had started after you witnessed one of the castle guards lying with a maid in a small storeroom. Unbeknownst to the couple, you watched as the guardsman thrust into her with abandon, grunting and sweating as his groin met her own, filling the storeroom with the sound of flesh pounding against flesh. However, it wasn’t the man’s body which your wide eyes were drawn to: it was the maid’s.
As you gazed upon her nakedness you felt an unfamiliar warmth between your legs and hearing her moans sent your pulse racing. The guardsman’s body was intriguing, but the maid’s figure, with her bouncing breasts, was positively enticing.
You grunt with frustration as you furiously finger yourself; your hands weren’t enough to satisfy your desires any longer. You needed to feel the flesh of another, to be wrapped in their embrace and pampered by their touch.
You needed to intimately know another woman, but who?
Your cheeks redden as the answer enters your mind. There is but one woman with whom you may trust such a delicate matter: your mother, the baroness.
Your mother was the very picture of grace and beauty,