Five cocks. Never before or since had Letitia had more than two in succession, and the memory thrilled her still. Her cunny had been puffy with cream by the time she had received the last, and the door had closed again. Sagging, she had hung in Easton's arms while he cupped her bubbling quim and murmured his adoration of her. Lascivious kisses having been exchanged, Letitia had then put on her drawers again and re-entered the drawing room regally, by which time the gentlemen had tactfully removed themselves upstairs and the ladies received her with kisses and murmurs of approbation.

'Some of the men tells the women what superb arses they 'ave', Johnson was saying now through the multiple threads of Letitia's memories.

'Do they-have they?' she asked dreamily. Her own skirts were being gathered up now, baring her plumpish thighs, the dark-purple stocking tops with garters of the same shade, under Johnson's seeking hands. Not having put on drawers that morning in anticipation of such an encounter, Letitia suppressed a sigh as the bulbous, naked cheeks of her bottom received the assuaging of his broad palms.

'Some 'as, m'am, but none finer than your'n. If I were a gent I would 'ave married you-asked for your 'and', Johnson said thickly, holding open the rearing nether cheeks as if Letitia required the air to cool her fervent warmth between.

'Would you?' asked Letitia faintly. She gave no account whatever to such words as passed between them, and wondered whether Johnson did. Nor would she reach between them and touch his velvet-sheathed prick. She had never handled it. It was a sufferance-a delicious sufferance, she assured herself, and to be so handled herself, so roughly and positively, without thought of refusal on the manservant's part, thrilled her exceedingly.

'I'd best take you to the couch, m'am', Johnson said, meaning the divan.