THE MISTRESS OF ROSEDALE . Rare is the happy couple whose sexual proclivities perfectly match, one with another. For every sadist seeks a masochist; each dominant, a submissive; voyeurs, exhibitionists – all instinctively searching for that unique someone to fill the void, to provide ultimate sexual fulfillment. THE INSATIABLE MISTRESS OF ROSEDALE is the story of such a pair. Edward, an aristocratic connoisseur of sexual perversions, resides in baronial splendor at Rosedale Manor; at his side the haughty and beautiful Lady Penelope, an insatiable woman whose lustful demands know no bounds. Together, they shamelessly indulge each other’s sexual peccadilloes, reveling in licentious decadence behind the walls of the big house on the hill.

Excerpt from: The Mistress of Rosedale

Penelope looked at me, and for the first time I saw something new in those big blue eyes. It was a curious softness that seemed to suffuse through her, as her hands went obediently to the collar of the white blouse. In silence, she undid the front of the blouse, loosened the cuffs and slipped the silken garment back off her shoulders, hanging it up with the jacket, her eyes avoiding mine all the while.

Now the half-naked blonde stood before me with head down, eyes on the floor. Her long smooth lines were clean to the hips, but for a narrow brassiere of vibrant turquoise banding her torso: thin straps and small scalloped cups, opaque and glossy cups, into which her small breasts nestled so appealingly. "Look at me!" I hissed insistently.

The blond head came up and I found myself staring into those pale eyes once more; questioning eyes, a little apprehensive, perhaps. The haughty smirk was gone; Penelope's lips pressed together in a thin tight line. She stood facing me with her hands at her sides, slender fingers played nervously along the seam of her billowing trousers.

"The brassiere," I ordered.

Her eyes were still on mine, as I watched while she reached around behind her blindly feeling for the catch, undoing it, and delicately

peeling the flimsy shoulderstraps down each shoulder, to gather the sagging cups up and free those pretty little tits. She twisted around to drape the flimsy contraption over the peg, and then turned back to face me, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. My eyes caressed the delicate contours of her breasts: small, firm and gently-mounded, each luscious slope capped with crinkled aureoles of soft coral. She watched me staring at her breasts, saw the hungry look in my eyes, and her lips curled in a knowing grin. I felt a surge of anger rising at her brazen audacity.

"Now....get down on the floor."

"Really James....I'm not...," she began.

"On your knees, woman!"

The big blonde hesitated. I was angry and in no mood to tolerate anything less than complete obedience.

"Down...on...your...knees," I reiterated each word precisely.

The bare breasted blonde stood regarding me, and I saw a new respect creep into her eyes. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. I waited, tense and keyed up, scarcely daring to breathe. Then, holding herself perfectly erect, the beautiful blonde slowly lowered herself to kneel on the dusty floor. I was jubilant. She had obeyed!

"Come here." She looked perplexed and started to rise. "No! Don't get up. I want you to come to me on your knees. Get down on your hands and knees…and crawl!"

The kneeling girl opened her mouth as if to speak but instead her tongue peeked out and quickly rimed her lips; she took a breath, but before she could say anything, I locked onto the wide blue eyes and held them, giving her a menacing look that made it clear that I would brook no nonsense.

Her lower lip curled in, and she bit down on it. Then her head dropped and she fell forward onto her hands to crawl across the dusty wooden planks. I watched her naked breasts dangling down, elongating into pointy tit-bags which swayed and moved most seductively beneath her as she made her way forward, moving like a big blond cat.