It soon transpired that the only member of the chateau's staff visiting Valenciennes on Wednesday afternoon was Marie Fabergé, a simple minded, rathe... fat girl, employed as a laundress. A short, tearful, interrogation of Marie revealed she had been approached by 'a very handsome young man named Horst' in the local patisserie when Marie was consuming a large pastry – several large pastries in fact. 'Horst', who by the description given by Marie was the surly postilion I had encountered at. I slid a finger down her clit, between her lips, down to where she was already pooling with lust. My finger got slippery and wet, and I pushed it up inside of her.She breathed in, a gasp. She lifted her head, her eyes looked into mine. Her pupils were dilating. I could feel her pulse beating around my finger. She put her hands around my neck, her mouth open, frozen with expectation. She moved her feet apart slightly.I pulled the front of her pants down just enough so that her pussy was. More

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