If there was a haunting beauty, a touching fondness in the way the elderly man spoke of his absent wife and the strange love that they made before Felicity came into the world, it was lost upon the young woman as she knelt before him trying to barely even shift, for the pain that creaked through her ass and thighs every time that she did. As silent as his whispering silk clothing she move under the tug of his hand, presented with the sight of his up-curving shaft, and given the gravest cautions.<br/><br/>Perhaps it might have been briefly easier, to close her eyes and imagine Owen in his stead - to think of her sweet beloved standing before her, of the sounds he might make as he felt her lips upon him for the first time. But never in a lifetime would Owen have painted her with such pain before having his pleasure from her. To try to think of him in the Baron's place would not be a relief, and not just for the loss that would result. To do so would belittle her cherished beloved.<br/><br/>That was why, when she closed the small gap between her mouth and his shaft with lips slipping open and closing around it to begin suckling upon him and tongue teasing hesitantly at the tip, her eyes upcast to him bloodshot but clear, focused completely upon this man before her and the wretched task of pleasuring him while her body ached from his other rod. Tears rolled down her cheeks, painting her lips and his cock, and every one was salty.