Qatsu, the Maid

How could any part of any human being possibly fit so perfectly and so arousingly around any other part of any other human being, unless it was meant to be!

I permitted myself to be filled with awe, as the youngster permitted herself to be filled with me. And what a part of me to choose! There is -- was then, is now, will always be -- no other part of me I would rather have her choose to enter that particular part of her, than the part she chose that day. It was like being invited into a person's inner thoughts. A privilege. An honour. Something that makes mankind what mankind is, a perfectly-poised-for-interactions-of-this-sort ... sort of being.

"I think she should be doing more," said Kate, darkly, eye back in the crack of the door.

"I don't think I can ask her to do more," I responded, cautiously, as the eager girl eased her honeyed innards ever lower onto me, juicily enveloping more of my surprisingly rampant and perky sexual tool. (It couldn't have perked more if it had just won a Nobel for its inventiveness, nor, come to that, have been more inventive in order to win the damn prize! Just entering this luscious part of Qatsu was inventiveness sufficient for any faculty established to its study.) I felt the tips of lower lips and the ruffle of pubic hair meld with my own. I relaxed and let myself experience what it was like to have such an important part of me, so hugely aware of itself as it currently was, so deeply accepted into such an important part of someone else, equally aware of what was there within its walls, who was so mind-blowingly lovely as this. She bit the lobe of my ear.

Hard.

I came like a gusher at a hot springs park. I erupted like Vesuvius in 1842. I exploded like the bomb at Nagasaki. I melted inside, is what I did. I focussed the molten consequence deep inside this girl in my arms, against my chest, with the two neat teeth drawing blood from the lobe of my ear. I sought to fill her up. I sought to drive the muzzle of my moulteness even further and deeper into her. Pulsing and thrusting and driving the current centre of my universe, long and hot and hard and right now acting not unlike the red things under dogs who get carried away with the neighbourhood bitch-on-heat, deep into our maid.

"Can I speak to her," came a voice from outside the door.

I didn't say a word. I didn't make a sound. I was involved in a complicated manoeuvre, transferring everything from the inside of me into the inside of our maid, and I hardly saw how a third party interaction had much place in this. Especially not at this precise stage of the transference, as it were.

"I'll send her," I managed to stammer.

"Send her?"

"Later," I got out.

"What are you talking about?" Kate wasn't whispering any more. "Send her out this minute."

But I couldn't do that.

Of course.

So I pushed the door shut.

It was three weeks later, in a lawyer's office, that I discovered something about light that I have always known, and yet at the one time in my life that it would have been useful, had failed to consider. And it was this. If light from a coupling couple moves in a straight line, and hits the baby's mirror at 5 degrees from a right angle, then it will reflect back from that mirror at five degrees on the other side of the right angle. It will head back in the direction of the coupling couple, albeit a small distance to one side. If there is a crack in the door in the coupling couple's wall, a similar small distance to one side, then anyone with an eye to that crack in the door will be able to see what the coupling couple are coupling about. And if that individual sets their phone on movie run, and holds the lens of the phone to the gap in the door ...

"It weakens your position," said the lawyer.