It was not to be – not yet – and I reluctantly returned to my duties, difficult as that was. Somewhere around one hundred blows, the sudden absence of noise made my ears ring. I studiously scrubbed the baseboards: mere coincidence offered a clear view of Louisa’s red, plugged, mottled backside. Mrs. Cleanknockers yanked out the bottom stuffing horn with a swift tug and a toot. My eyes popped to mirror the gape revealed. The cunt horn was unlatched from the rod; though hard to tell from my perspective, she appeared to be wet from more than the oil. My pelvis clenched.

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