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It was 31st December 2010. We friends were celebrating at her house as her parents decided go to their friends. We reached her house around 10pm. She ...as dressed in blue skin tight Tee and black jeans. She was looking gorgeous as usual. I hugged her and kissed on her cheeks. She responded back. She had already made up with snacks and cold drinks and music for our overnight celebrations. We sat at the couch in hall talking generally and about our lives and remembering our old college days. Hour. He pushed her thighs as far apart as they would go, her legs now straddling the bed. Then he lifted her up and slid a pillow underneath her, effectively raising her sopping cunt into the air. He rubbed his fingers into her juices, sliding up and down her lips, making her writhe and moan. The sting of the leather on her clit caught her unaware. He hit her...three times in succession...making her scream. And then his fingers were there again. This time he pressed three fingers inside her,. The hand on her thigh was warm and she was conscious that his fingers were creeping ever higher, under her robe, only inches away from her sex and she could feel an increasing tingling in her loins. Definitely her nephew's touch was not just innocent. She had to get up and go to bed. She knew that. He was still in his teens and, even worse, he was her sister's son. The buxom woman slumped lower on the sofa. She'd leave in just a moment, she told herself, even as her loose fitting robe climbed. Sir Reginald's prized steed was a dark brown stallion named Bucephalus. Tristan brought over a light saddle, put it on the beast, lead him out of the stable and climbed on. Bucephalus was a calm horse, unlike his namesake, and accepted Tristan without issue. With his feet in the stirrups and his hands on the reins, Tristan took off. This was theft, and Tristan knew that once Reginald discovered his crime he would gather a search party to reclaim his wayward squire and prized horse, but Tristan.
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