Having myself never talked to the little urchin, I could neither confirm nor deny any such tale. Truthfully, he was rarely in camp since he was the be...t spy we had against the English. Certainly, it was a possibility. I had heard Gregor MacKenzie call him by his first name, Kincaid, supposedly some surname of a deceased relative. Caid could easily become Cady and it could logically follow that the lad’s own surname was Mac-something or other, but, unfairly, I was not inclined to believe it was. Old girl. In short she was not very pretty but was quite presentable. Above all the best thing she had was dressing sense and the tricks and body language all nice girls have. This thing made me attracted towards her. She was constantly looking at me as I was quite a site that day, fit into my silk Kurta. Also there was no other girl beside my cousin sisters whom I always treated as my real sisters. Later my cousin brother told me that she too is our sister but from a very-very long distance.. ‘Happy Bastille Day! Oh, thank you for bringing these. Ooo, and the cake looks wonderful as well. Let’s put these over here.’ She led us to a buffet table covered in all kinds of unfamiliar looking foods. French, maybe? Most of it was blue, white, and red. I held everything till, control-freak-that-she-is, Cassandra had decided what went were best from an artistic point-of-view. Once my arms were finally empty, she gave me a hug as well. The smell of her, all patchouli and sandalwood incense,. Leaving panties for me to find so soiled, every pair feeding me, a fetish fiend with their daily wear. All around the office here girls are making eyes licking lips and swinging hips the flashing of their thighs. They know what kind of man I am I’ll take this lying down using me the way they want and passing their panties down. Tonight, while in my bed I’ll use this newest pair breathing in the pungent scent to guess the days of wear. Stroking my hood until I come licking the panties clean cry.