My Secret Life Vol-01 Chapter 11- Charwoman and daughter
My Secret Life Vol-01 Chapter 11- Charwoman and daughter
| Sex Story Author: | aamir Hyderabad |
| Sex Story Excerpt: | It always ending in my trying to feel her, and getting no further. At length they left, new servants coming. |
| Sex Story Category: | Erotica |
| Sex Story Tags: | Diary, Erotica, Hardcore |
MY SECRET LIFE BY WALTER
VOLUME-1
Chapter XI
We could not get servants for some time. A middle-aged charwoman came to assist, and one of her daughters came from time to time, stopping generally the night. Their cottage was not far off, I had seen the girl from an infant, she was then about eighteen years old. I had often smiled when I met her, of course I smiled now. She was quite a slim little girl, there was nothing of her, but I was at an age when anything having a cunt attracted me.
Profiting by experience, I now used key-holes; fortune favoured me, for, for some reason, instead of one large bed, two small ones were put into the servants’ rooms; between them a wash-stand and a chair on each side of it were nearly opposite the key-hole. How I chuckled at this, for unless the key-hole was covered, I could see nearly all one bed and both chairs and wash-stand. I saw the old woman wash and use the pot, put on her stockings and other things; the other bed was a little out of range. I could not so often see the girl, but did at times.
One evening the girl only stopped. So soon as I heard mother’s door closed, out I went in my night-shirt, and through the key-hole saw the girl naked. She put the light on the floor, one leg on the chair, and with a small hand-glass looked at her quim, her bum was towards me. Not satisfied she turned round, sat down facing me, putting the candle on the floor and with legs as wide open as she could went on with her investigation. I had a reasonably good look at her, and her cunt. As said, she was nothing to look at, but I got in a fearfully excited state and made some noise at the door which alarmed her, for up she got and stood still listening. I went to my room, looking through the half-closed door, hers opened and out came her head. I nodded and back she went.
The next day she was going home, and as I now (although having rows with mother about it) went out when I liked, just before she left I went out and walked. It was dark. In two or three minutes out she came. After walking by her side for a time I asked her point blank how she liked the look of it last night. “What do you mean?” I told her all I had done. “Oh!” she said with intense surprise, “what a mean thing to do.” I told her how one of our former servants used to look at me naked. After a minute she did not appear to be at all disconcerted at having been seen naked; from my de***********ion she could have had no doubt whatever that I had seen all, “What did you look at your quim for?” asked I. “All that’s my business; what did you look at me for?” “To see your cunt.” Being at a dark part of the road I began kissing her, and got my fingers on to her belly. She made no row, but crossed her legs; and small and seemingly weak as she was, succeeded in preventing me feeling. I was out with her an hour, kissing, coaxing, attempting; I got my fingers and hand over her bum and belly, but not on to her slit. At each failure she laughed and said, “Done again.” I swore I would some day. “No you won’t, you’re not the first that has tried,” said she, and I went home without having felt her quiet properly.
I attempted it the next day and at every opportunity in the house and out of it, till new servants came. She felt my prick, would look at it, squeeze the balls, talk about fucking and baudiness to any extent, tell me what she had seen and what she had heard about such matters. She at length scarcely resisted my feeling her bum, belly, and legs, yet I never got my finger on to her slit, so as to feel the moisture; for she closed her little legs and wriggled, or got away from me somehow. Once or twice when I got a little rough, she set up a squeal, and I desisted. I offered her money. She replied, “No thank you, I am not going to spoil my chance that way.” Our conversation used to begin by my saying, “How is your duff?” “Oh! nicely, thank you; how is your jock?” “All right, and stiff, waiting for your duff.” “Then it will wait a long time,” and so on.
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