Amélie
Copyright© 2018 by Bondi Beach
Chapter 13: The Print Shop
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 13: The Print Shop - A family journal more than three hundred years old reveals romance, a journey, first love, skinnydipping, pirates, heartbreak, and a new world and new friends. The story contains explicit language and is written for adventuresome readers with a sense of humor and an appreciation of purplish prose. Written by a 17th century family matriarch who, it is safe to say, lived her life to the fullest, if her journal is to be believed. A bit of MM, oral, heads up. The violence is brief but explicit.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Ma/Ma Mult Consensual Fiction Group Sex Interracial Black Female Violence
August, 1678 Oxford, Oxfordshire
“DO YOU HAVE sharp eyes?”
The question was not a rhetorical one. It had become apparent after only a few days that Merle Heathcoate required more assistance from the two women than fetching and carrying and running errands. He already had young Harold, a scrawny kid of eleven or twelve years, for that. Harold was too small to carry the trays of heavy lead fonts, but he could be relied upon to deliver packets of printed jobs to clients, to return with payment and, often, further work.
The women found the aroma of printer’s ink strangely attractive. It meant words and thoughts and emotions barely held in check by the ink that bound them to the page.
Heathcoate himself was the muscle behind the operation. One glance at the giant press with its central screw and plates and the long rod Master Merle inserted for additional leverage was sufficient to explain his overdeveloped shoulders and arms. Printing was man’s work. Each sheet was impressed separately, but with clever typesetting and layout a sheet could carry eight pages of text. Master Heathcoate passed the printed sheets to be cut and sewn into signatures for binding by a worker in fine leathers at the bindery in the next street.
“Yes, Master Heathcoate,” said Amélie.
“I do, too, sir,” added Sandrine.
“Know your letters, do you? That’s what your father told me. Is that true?”
The two women nodded.
“You as well, Sandrine?” Heathcoate was not convinced an African woman could read.
“Yes, sir,” answered Sandrine. With that she reached behind her to remove a sheet of text drying on a rack. “You mean, like this?” She began to read from the top.
His manhood, the flower of his youth, saluted her beauty in the most unmistakable manner. Her eyes widened as she absorbed the magnificence of his member.
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