I was dying to grab this little darling of a girl and sink my now 6.5” rod into her, what I suspect would be her more than willing mouth. But again she sprang away with all the energy of youth and said that it was my turn to take her panties off. Trying not to seem too eager, I knelt in front of her bringing my face level with her small tits, so I planted a kiss on each and rested my hands on her hips. My hands seemed huge, my thumbs nearly touching across her midriff just below her belly button. Hooking my thumbs into the elastic of her small pink panties, I started to lower then, deliberately taking my time, slowly exposing her cute little muffin in all its perfection. The first thing to assault my senses was her sent. Light and sweet like the soap a little girl would use, but with a strong sent of arousal also. I bent my head down and lightly kissed the top of her slit and heard her sigh. She put her hands on my head and pulled me closer to her giving me the sure knowledge that. Margaret watched in triumph as Lady Mathom began to settle for the kill. Lady Mathom knew that she had won but a small nagging doubt began to itch in her mind even as she prepared her final cut. Why had Margaret accepted the final run into defeat so stoically? Why hadn’t she fought more desperately to defend herself other than a foolish lie to gain a minor advantage and a mere delay to her fate. Had she already, in herself, accepted the Queen of Hearts. Had her whole game been one of losing but done so subtlety as to gain honour from her defeat. If so it was totally brilliant. Lady Mathom had never seen Margaret play like she had tonight. She was inspired and that thought brought the seeds of doubt closer to her consciousness. Why was Margaret even now so seemingly calm and resigned yet with a quiver of discernible agitation? Was the source of that agitation curled up on the table, three feet from her elbow, with its promise of exquisite pain? Or was there some other reason? The woman.
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