Moaning as I lift my head, I utter, “FUCK!” You respond back to me with a chuckle and ask, “Am I distracting you, babe?”“Oh. God. Yes!” I ...roan. Your cock still in my hand. The taste of you and honey on my lips. Your fingers thrusting in and out of my pussy. Your thumb, oh god your magical thumb, rubbing my clit in circles. I place my forehead down on your lower abdomen. My ass still up in the air. Your still slightly sticky cock grazes my cheek. My hips working overtime matching pace with your. I administer another fifteen strokes which brings some more colour into your cheeks, and note that your legs are now very close to crossing the chalk line I have drawn on the box. My fingers slip inside your panties and play with your sex, there is little resistance when they slip inside you as you are so wet. I spend a few minutes fingering and caressing your body bringing it to the brink of orgasm before removing my hand. Smiling I swap the cane for a horsewhip with a very small leather. May it give you courage and strength in the future when you most need it?"I looked at the locket with awe. I had never thought much about my name although I knew it was Scottish. Now I was learning that my ancestry could go back to the brother of a long dead Scottish King."That is a wonderful story mother, but why are you telling me about it now?" I asked her."Because your great grandmother was right," she told me. "I married and we moved south and made our home here. And we were incredibly. It took ages for the Iris' march to actually begin, though the first demonstrators had shuffled off several hours earlier. There was a palpable sense of conspiratorial partying in the whole event that Iris and her friends felt as they browsed stalls selling Green and revolutionary literature. There was an illicit thrill in doing something illegal. And, unlike taking drugs or importing goods cheaply from outside the Northern European Union, it was illegal activity in the full glare of publicity.