I knelt close to the footstool on which her foot rested; it was raised up, and a very slight movement brought it against my person, at first rather below where my throbbing prick was distending my trousers. As she commenced to wind her ball, she gradually pushed her foot further forward, until the toe actually touched the knob of my cock, and occasionally moved it right and left, exciting me beyond measure.
I flushed up to the very ears, and trembled so violently that I thought I should have dropped the skein.
“My dear boy, what is the matter with you, that you blush and tremble so, are you unwell?”
I could not answer, blushed more than ever. The skein at length was finished.
“Charles,” she said, “get up, and come here.”
I rose and stood by her side.
“What have you got in your trousers that is moving?”
And here her busy fingers commenced unbuttoning them. Released from confinement, out started my prick—stiff as iron, and as large as that of a youth of eighteen. Indeed, I was better hung than one boy selected out of five hundred of that age. Mrs. B., who had pretended to be perfectly astonished, exclaimed—
“Good gracious, what a pego! Why Charles, my darling, you are a man not a boy. What a size to be sure!” and she gently handled it. “Is it often in this state?”
“Yes, ma’am.”