“My word!” his lordship exclaimed. “Did this randy piece just spend?” For a moment there was silence. I broke with a weepy, “Pleeeeease! Don’t stop!” Fully shifted over Mrs. Cleanknockers’ lap, I arched, I begged with spread legs for her touch. Do not tell me, that man is the crueler sex; nay, the female—as I admit to be—is the evil tormentor of flesh. She teased me, a whisper of touch on flaming skin, a finger pad run down humid crack, pressed against desperate flower, then lower still, roaming dewed petals seeking stamen to plunder deep. “Yes, I submit!”
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