Jets of warm fluid bathed my pussy. Mr. Jones-Smyth slumped over my back, trembling like an ill-used horse, huffing and wheezing. It was nice. I hadn’t reached a pinnacle, I wasn’t sure if it was possible. When he withdrew with a slurp, the cool air soothed my chafed tissues. Runny liquid traced like snails down my legs. A hoarse farewell: ‘I will call upon you tomorrow, Ruby’ then silence. It was Mrs. Cleanknockers and Louisa who cleansed me, undid my bondage and assisted me until I could stand without swaying. Brisk questions, halting answers: I was left alone to clean.
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