If the calmly leering Miss Violetta allowed him an erection, commanded it to be cinched tight in leather beneath her smug dark eyes, and watched the thing throb and strain as she tortured her charge ever further, why, that of course was allowable. And yet for naughty Master Edward to revel in his own excitation, to fondle this willowy redhead for his own pleasure, with his hands squeezing at her supple globes and his fingers twisting at the scarcely covered nodules of her erect n*****s while his own naked, veiny manhood rubbed demandingly against her… Well, clearly that was wrong.
Fleetingly, though, as his passions flared he suddenly wondered—what was the worst that could happen? He might ejaculate, he told himself dirtily, might get so worked up that as he struggled in the madness of
