Horace was now stretched lengthwise on the sofa; he was perfectly naked and Olivia was lying on the top of him, also stark naked. His arm was passed around her loins and he pressed her tightly against his belly. His left hand rested on her shoulder. Her mouth was fixed to his, and her breasts rested on his chest. Her thighs were stretched widely apart and Horace's staff was so deeply imbedded in Olivia's slit that the very hair of their genitals intermingled. They evidently experienced intense pleasure. Olivia's buttocks were elevated high in the air and she moved them energetically. Every time she raised her bottom I could see Horace's lance entering in and out of the lips of her bushy mount, and sometimes I could even see the rosy head of his dart as he plunged it again and again into her coral slit. This motion became more rapid, and soon the lips of Olivia's glorious con seemed to contract and embrace Horace's staff closely. She then gave two or three convulsive struggles and ended by falling without motion on Horace's belly, at the same moment I saw the sperm trickle down her thighs. "They have done for the night," whispered Laura to me. "Come with me and I will show you something else. For I am very much mistaken if Rose has not a visitor by this time." So saying we left our place of concealment and entered a similar apartment at the other end of the corridor. We entered a closet in this room and peeped through some cracks in the boarding into the next apartment. I saw a very pretty little plump girl entirely naked on her hands and knees on the bed, presenting her delicious white buttocks with her lovely slit, shaded with brown hair between them. Behind her was a tall, fine looking man, about forty years of age, also naked. In his hand was a birch--with which he was gently tickling the lovely girl's bottom. "What does this mean?" I asked of Laura. "That girl you see there is Rose Monson," she replied. "Nothing gives her so much pleasure as to be soundly whipped on the bottom by her lover. They always begin in this way. Her companion is George Coulson, a very rich gentlemen--but watch them and you will see something amusing." I peeped again and saw that George was using the rod a little more freely than when I had first looked, already the cheeks of her buttocks were turned a rosy hue. His instrument was so stiff that it stood boldly up against his belly. "Harder, George," murmured Rose, her face buried in the pillow. "I scarcely feel it, harder my dear boy, flog me harder."