Mr. Cazares appeared behind me moments later. I had such butterflies! All my senses were roiling and my whole body was in the turmoil brought on by my raging lust and the knowledge that the moment of my surrender was at hand.He took my hand and led me past the restrooms and into the utility closet. He pushed aside the mops, brooms and mop bucket. He embraced me in the darkness that enveloped us when he shut the door.He had one hand on my behind, squeezing my coffee brown buttock cheek, he had his other hand unbuttoning my blouse. There was no kissing, although I hoped that we might.He pulled up my skirt and worked his right hand inside the elastic of my high-cut pink panties. His hand was bare on the flesh of my buttock. He squeezed it and squeezed it and made me want for more. His left hand deftly undid my bra and he squeezed my 38-D brown right breast.“What do you need?” he asked.“You,” I responded.“Why?” he asked.“I don’t know,” I said.“Yes you do! You know! You know that you are. I had avenged their deaths but was still heart sick at their loss. Jane was certainly plain, but I wondered if she and Worcester had been making the beast with two backs whilst the house was quiet and empty. However, whatever they got up to during their free time was none of my business, unless the even tenor of the running of my household became disrupted.A few weeks later I learned Worcester was teaching Jane Gieves her letters, and felt ashamed that my first thoughts, regarding their activity in the deserted kitchen, were of a prurient nature.The cuisine at Boodles came highly recommended by Krish Armityge. He had rooms in a well-appointed town house in Adams Street, but his cook, the sister of my own Mrs Bridges, had to leave his employ to look after her daughter. Krish was reluctant to fill the position as he hoped for her eventual return, consequently he had developed quite a gourmet's appreciation of the food on offer in the clubs and eating houses of London.I was not too.
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