spurt
of my spunk, she by a twist threw my prick out, and caught hold of
it with her fingers, letting me spend over her thighs and linen, but
squeezing and frigging at my doodle until it had shrunk thoroughly down.

For a month the same thing occasionally happened. She would let me
finger, feel, rub her (in the nearly darkened kitchen), putting one leg
on a chair, or stooping down, or any way to let me feel both inside and
outside well. When I got my prick out, she immediately began to frig it.
I used to have quiet rows with her, for not letting me put it into her;
and when at length she did, I was always near spending; and do not think
that more than once, I spent up her completely, so did she manage to
throw me out just as my sperm began to flow. All was done standing up.

She treated me like some one she had known for years, did everything
before me, talked both baudily, and beastly, called my balls, my cods,
and used to say, "Hish! let me piss first." Then she would sit down on a
pail in the back kitchen and piss, sometimes farting, and saying, "oh!"
with a laugh, when she did so. She would belch without ceremony, blow
her nose through her fingers, and I noticed she never washed her hands
(whilst I was present at all events), when I had spent upon them.
She would say, "How are your cods off for starch to-night?" She was
complaisant enough in letting me feel, would turn her backside round and
let me fumble about it anyhow, but although want made me do what I did,
it never seemed quite pleasant to me, and I disliked her. I never got a
glimpse of her belly or cunt. If the front-kitchen was not dark enough,
she moved to the back, before we began our pranks, and scrupulously
avoided light. Her cunt I felt was a large one, but so far from having
the quantity of hair I expected, she seemed scarcely to have any. One
thing she did which annoyed me. After feeling my cock, she would slide
her hands under the balls to my arse-hole which she would press hard
with her middle-finger, giving a "tchick" with her tongue, at the same
time.

All this took place in about six weeks. "Hush!" said she one night,
"some one is listening." I could hear nothing, but she whispered, "Go up
to the garden." I did. It was dusk, and I thought I saw a figure enter
the garden parlour, just as I got up the garden stairs. All were out
but me and the two servants. Cook at the same time went up the
kitchen-stairs, calling out loudly, "Harriet, is Maste