THE INSATIABLE MISTRESS OF ROSEDALE 
THE INSATIABLE 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 others sexual peccadillos, reveling in 
licentious decadence behind the walls of the big house on the hill.



Excerpt from The Insatiable 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 downtilted, 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 tits 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 here hands at her sides, slender fingers played nervously along the seam of 
her billowing trousers.
"Take off your brassiere," I ordered curtly.

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 evil 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 in a voice of cold 
steel.

The topless 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, 
scarecely 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!
"Now I want you to come over 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 dirty wooden planks. I watched 
her naked breasts dangling down, elongating into pointy tit-bags, that swayed 
and moved seductively beneath her lithe torso as she made her way forward, 
moving like a big blond cat.



  
Rosedale