Lady chatterley adult scean

Then she quivered as she felt his hand groping softly, yet with queer thwarted clumsiness, among her clothing. She knew that, when at last he roused and drew away from her. He drew her dress in the darkness down over her knees and stood a few moments, apparently adjusting his own clothing. Yet the hand knew, too, how to unclothe her where it wanted. She must only wait, for she did not dare to break his mysterious stillness. He laid his hand on her shoulder, and softly, gently, it began to travel down the curve of her back, blindly, with a blind stroking motion, to the curve of her crouching loins.

She lay still, in a kind of sleep, always in a kind of sleep. Her tormented modern-woman's brain still had no rest. And she knew, if she gave herself to the man, it was real.

The activity, the orgasm was his, all his; she could strive for herself no more. Why had it lifted a great cloud from her and given her peace? But if she kept herself for herself it was nothing. And at last, she could bear the burden of herself no more.

And there was something so mute and forlorn in her, compassion flamed in his bowels for her.

Without knowing, he came quickly towards her and crouched beside her again, taking the chick from her hands, because she was afraid of the hen, and putting it back in the coop.

Her innocence in the beginning and then her transformation into the hot and over-sexed Lady looks so real.

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