Of course not, Saminya spends the night.

Dear Sir Williard,

It is morning and I find myself in an excellent mood as I drink my morning coffee. Laying on my bed half-covered by the rumpled white sheet that I drew over her before the hotel service arrived with my breakfast is Saminya. She is still worn out from last night’s activities. I hope you do not think too poorly of me, it really had been my intention last night to take Saminya down to the main desk and procure for her a place to stay but with moral fiber already weakened by my shameful encounter with the three nymphs in the garden I found myself succumbing to the temptation of exotic flesh. I expect you will agree with me Sir Williard, when I defend myself in this: spending the night with a coloured woman of compromised integrity, is a far less egregious a failing than rending the virtue of a white woman, especially one as cultured and well-bred as Miss Peach. Please understand, I am not proud of my fault. I am detailing this encounter not as grandiose braggery on my part but rather as a scientific endeavour to collect data regarding ‘The Blush’ referred to by your colleague Dr. Miller.

It occurs to me as I write this that if I were able to identify the cause of this planetwide epidemic, perhaps something as ubiquitous as the ergot that contaminates the rye in the Russo-Polish Provence, I would be well on my way to finding a cure. In any event having finished writing last night I turned to Saminya and told bid her accompany me. Once again the dark-haired beauty threw herself at my feet pressing her tear-stained face against my thighs as she clung to my knees begging me to forgive her.

“Please Doctor,” she cried “I’ll do anything!” I cannot say with absolute certainty that what I felt was ‘The Blush’ but the desire I felt for this lithesome young seductress was as strong as what I felt in the hotel gardens and growing with every moment. I lifted her easily to her feet (the gravitational difference between Rajah-4 and Earth in effect making me that much stronger) and pulled the silk wrap off of her so she was wearing only the white uniform I remembered her in.

“Is it true?” I asked her “Do you let the gentlemen who call on Dr. Miller do as they wish with your pretty little body?”
“Y-y-yes.” She stammered and although one might expect to hear her admit to being a whore would extinguish my desire for her instead it had the opposite effect, making me want her even more.

“And what about Dr. Miller?” I asked dreading the answer because I knew already I was going to have her that night, but I had no desire to share Saminya with your acquaintance. To my great joy she replied that Dr. Miller told her bluntly that he didn’t care for molasses when he had all the refined white sugar he could ever want. An image of Miss Peach's pale body glowing in the moonlight flashed uninvited when she said 'refined sugar' and I uttered a mental prayer that poor maiden never find herself in the hands of our licentious Dr. Miller.

I could hold back no longer, kissing angrily her with a fierce possessiveness I must admit I cannot recall ever having on Earth. Her mouth opened obediently to my tongue and she made no attempt to resist my most improper treatment of her. I feasted on her full lips tasting the faint flavor of curry that must have been her dinner as I explored every nook and cranny with my mouth. After what seemed like an eternity of this bliss, I was able to pull back, still burning with the Blush, but no longer controlled by it. She looked even better at that moment that I remembered in Dr. Miller's library.

“Your uniform makes you look like a hussy.” I told her as I motioned for her to turn in a slow pirouette. “The skirt reveals every inch of your sexy calves and ankles, and when you open that third button you practically invite a man’s touch on your golden bosom.” She meekly lowered her eyes to my feet, neither denying my assessment nor offering any mitigating circumstances. “Undo the next button.” I was drunk with the power I had over her, savoring the sight of her hands releasing the forth button and pulling open the ‘V’ of her blouse so I could see the deep cleft between her breasts. As far as I could tell she wasn’t even wearing a brassier - although her breasts did not seem to need any support - I still was surprised by the blatant sexuality of her garb.

“Are you wearing panties?” I asked and when she nodded I instructed her to remove them. The Royal Edwardian rooms are equipped with plenty of aetherlamps and I could see her blush as she reached under her skirt and worked the undergarment over her thighs until she could step out of the white briefs. “Better.” I told her as I took the scrap of lace from her hand and touched the moist cotton panel. “If you are going to dress like a whore you may as well do it to the fullest measure.”
And that’s how I took her the first time Sir Williard, I lay her on her back and pushed my face into her chest licking and suckling at her breasts and neck as I climbed between her thighs. The stiff white skirt bunched high around her waist as her legs parted making it easy for my member to find its way to her eager fold. I do not want any reader to mistake my intentions in leaving her mostly dressed. This was not an attempt to preserve her modesty as a husband might when he lays with his wife, rather quite the opposite, I wanted to remember who she was and how we first met. Saminya’s sex was hot, wet and tight; much more so than most of the women I found myself with as a poor student in medical school. Furthermore she was much more active in my arms than any woman I can remember.

She arched her back as I entered her, much like all women, crying out in passion as she felt me fill her, but as soon as I had myself fully embedded the vixen wrapped her legs around my torso drawing even deeper into her as she twisted rocking beneath in a way that seemed to maximize the sensations I took from the coupling. Furthermore she too seemed to find pleasure in the union and she met me thrust for thrust until I was just about to explode and then she suddenly twisted out from under me rolling over until it was her assuming the male role.

After the initial shock of finding myself on my back with my lover on top I felt my reservations wane. In this position Saminya was able to twist and gyrate with even more freedom, and the sight of her still dressed in the starched whites of her uniform as she rode me was unmatched. From this position Saminya could control the pace of our joining, prolonging my pleasure and apparently even reaching what appeared to be a climax of her own just before I exploded into her. I know there is a great deal of skepticism about the ability of a woman to have an orgasm, but I must report that the sudden flood of moisture and the spasming of her vaginal walls against my organ strongly suggests that some females at least are indeed capable of something not dissimilar to a male climax.

We were both covered in sweat and short of breath as I helped remove her clothing and she the last of mine. I was more than content with the passion we found together, but to my surprise I found my recently spent member recovering with a speed that is promised at by every charlatan who peddles magic ointments in our great Empire. Three more times that night I took her, in various positions that I will attempt to describe later. I cannot say if this is unusual or not, but as a point of reference, let me add that never in any of the previous times that I have been with a woman have I ejaculated more than twice in one night.

I hear Saminya stirring finally beneath her covers, so I will continue this account at my next available opportunity.