Clara becomes a woman

My Dearest Cordelia,

I miss you terribly! Your cheeky smile and little laugh filled my life with joy more than I ever knew. Its been two months since I was last home, and you simply must come visit when you have the chance. Life here in Kingston is much different, and truth be told I've not had much chance to do more than study. Every morning its all gravitational arcs and Somatonal **** exertions.

Well, not every morning. A little background first. Mr Singh, my handsome patron, has seemingly little interest in the fairer sex, or in sex at all, really. I've been staying at his modest estate, which much to my relief had many of the comforts of home without the watchful eyes of father. Seducing him has proven to be quite the challenge, especially after our first "encounter" that fateful night. At first, I began to worry he was a homosexual.

Then, last week, I noticed a stunningly beautiful Hindu woman, not a servant, leaving our estate in the wee hours of the morning. She had her own attendants and everything. Must have been one of the first generation servants who are now free citizens. When I went to return to my room, his washroom was slightly open. He stood there, glistening with sweat, his penis still shiny with her juices. Wordlessly, I slipped into the room with him. His eyes met mine, and he gave me a slight nod. I closed the door behind me, and moved toward him.

I washed his athletic body with a sponge, running my hands over his well-defined shoulders and statuesque torso. I slipped from my own nightgown with little disruption. Good heavens, Cordelia it was just as imagined! We stood there, nude and glistening with the Rajan moon shining through the foggy window, his manhood swelling in my hand. Wordlessly, I dropped to my knees, and cleaned his cock of the mysterious woman's juices. He looked down, his veneer of calm finally cracking, as I took it between lips. I must thank you for all those demonstrations on the servants and suitors around the estate. Mr Singh was most pleased with my slow, delicate machinations.

He lead me to the master bedroom. Oh cousin, it was stunning! Lumawood posts, native flora, and exquisite silk sheets awaited me. Many nights, I had lay awake and nude with my door unlocked; hoping to see his sillouette in the doorframe to join me and make me a woman. All the luck I'd ever had with that was awakening to find a servant boy or girl staring at my nude body. Most of the times I'd shoo them off, but others, well, the Blush most certainly still has a hold of me, even here.

One of the servant boys in particular is quite enamored with me. He's snuck in my room many times, always when I'm in the bath or the bed. I eventually submitted to his presence and decided to make use of it. The skilled mouth that had finally wooed Mr. Singh was trained on that sneaky servant's cock. I sucked and licked and tickled it with my tongue, feeling its vitality and life in my hands and between my lips. I see now why you like doing this so much. I think I'll do it more!

He wordlessly lifted me up until we were embracing chest to chest. He kissed my neck and along my collarbone as he guided me to the bed. The sheets themselves were of purple and orange 'Rilla silk that faintly glowed to the touch. I parted my leg slightly and felt his weight upon me. My eyes were closed when I felt his finger at my lips. He held it sideways between my teeth. At first, I didn't know why.

His manhood pressed, suddenly, against my maidenhood; and Sir Wayland Singh made me a woman upon a glowing bed on a moonlit night. A girl couldn't ask for a more romantic way to be introduced to the ways of sex. Oh, it hurt. Don't get me wrong on that. His member is enormous, a full three inches longer and much thicker than Sanjay's; more akin to M'lembe's, the Kongolese servant that you so famously entertained on your birthday as a gift from your older sister. I could feel every vein of it slip into me as I lay there, biting his finger and whimpering as his hands massaged my breasts and lips traveled my neck.

The feeling of him sliding it in and out of me fills me with warmth and waves of pleasure. Now that we've done it once, I am constantly trying to pull him away from his work, eager to ride his Rajan Cobra once again. In truth, I fear my studies might suffer as I've spent more nights examining his ceiling or facedown in his pillows than I have in the workshop.

Anyway, I'd much rather show you his skill than simply describe it to you. You just must come visit me, and I'll show some of my "inventions".

Your dearest cousin,

Clara Hughes