She imagines a scenario where instead of a mango, Miss Amelia is eating out the cunt of the sylph. They are in a staircase. She has the sylph bent over the banister, hanging unto the rails for dear life as she wiggles her ass up against Miss Amelia, begging to be spanked, yes, spanked with a specially-made paddle enrobed in fur, only to moan as a hot, thick cock pushes into her cunt. A moan escapes.

At this moment, the plot thickens, for the moan captures the attention of the girl, who screams. She is quite surprised, reasonably, at finding this strange attractive woman with her skirts frothing in her lap, who appears to be masturbating.

Who does not even cease what she is doing. Who does not even bother to say, "Excuse me." Instead, she smiles at the girl, a very sexy smile, a daring smile. The woman is daring her. "What's your name, little girl?"

The girl's hands, attempting, vainly, to shield her vulnerable (and quivering)

nudity go slack. She is curious. A little aroused. Green eyes dilate.

Shyly, for all adventurers are shy, at first, unsure of their newly found courage, she wades through the brook, to approach the waiting woman. Uncertain, a flush staining her cheeks and other very mentionable parts of hers, the girl places Miss Amelia's hands over the firm slopes of her breasts.

"Sophie, ma'am."

Miss Amelia smiles that sexy, daring smile. She can feel Sophie's heart, trying to beat its way out of her ribcage. The slyph's other hand slides up Miss Amelia's thighs. A tuba bellows triumph in the gardener's head. Someone's getting bedded today . . .