“You need discipline sir,” she cautioned, “Next time you have evil urges I shall use the birch not gentle encouragement.”“Get thee gone Sata...,” I cursed and I loosened my belt and lowered my trousers to reveal the soggy mess. “You are truly evil.”“Don’t be so childish.” she chided, “When I was at the Lord Delamere’s household we used to milk the Ostler regularly and use his emissions to starch collars and cuffs, I doubt it will do any real harm.” She helped me remove my trousers and proceeded. ‘Okay. Lose the shorts.’ And he did. Slowly. My eyes squinched shut, then opened wide. The root of him was as thick as my ankle, soft where it hung as he slowly unveiled inch after uncoiling inch of it. When he’d reached the balls about 8 inches down where they hung super-low, one in each pant-leg apparently, I almost fainted. Each hairless nut was like a mango with rounded points, manly and grotesque and powerfully they hung, mocking all men I’d ever seen naked with their potency. None. More

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