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Though far from sentimental, Judge Arthur Windsor-Withers found himself deeply moved by the heft and sway of Mrs. Peggins' enormous thighs. Something about them appealed to his sense of honor, and he felt his eyes tear up suddenly as he watched the sowlike menial mechanically scour the floor. An urge to reward her lifetime of patient drudgery and sacrifice took hold of him. He swiftly mounted her.

"If it please you, m'lud," whined Peggins, "I still have the the dustin' and the slops to do." Nonetheless, she moved one of her massive, hammy loins aside to accommodate the Judge's rapidly tumescing member, all the while continuing to scrub desultorily in a repetitive, counterclockwise motion. A noxious odour of cabbage, mildew and excrement wafted up to Arthur's nostrils as the great, stumpy legs parted, causing a potent admixture of revusion, lust and hatred to course through his system. Not a bad little tidbit for Fortune to have slid his way, what? If only he'd brought his switch along...

"Perhaps this'll teach you to attend to your duties more efficiently, then, you insolent slattern. Eh? Eh?" Arthur was not above recycling an old aphorism if circumstances were appropriate. In the gilded mirror he could see his wrinkly bollocks slapping against Peggins' massive, prow-like hindquarters as he slugged away, and the undulations of her arm flab evoked the gentle sway of wheat in an autumn breeze. The years seemed to slip aside and Arthur had a vision of his younger self, the shy country lad who used to erotically avail himself of the freshly-butchered sides of mutton hanging in his uncle's killing room. Aroused by the memory, he renewed his exertions with vigor. "How about that, then, eh, you dirty pig? Looks like Judge Arthur's uncovered the flower of your secret, yeah?" He reached under her grandmotherly bulk and ran his fingers over the surprisingly firm contours of her pannus. What a woman!

"Yes, m'lud," grunted the prole. "Only please 'urry. I 'ave the itch somethin' 'orrible."

"Silence!" roared the Judge. How dare she address him this way? Fearing a loss of arousal, he seized a nearby bust and rained a succession of blows upon Peggins' arms and back, raising welts and causing her to sigh heavily. That was the stuff, eh? Peggins remained impassive, however, squeezing her filthy rag into a foul-smelling bucket and tsk-tsking at a newly discovered stain. Frustrated, the Judge accelerated his coital attack, causing his wig to slip off, tumble down her stilton-veined buttocks and land in a heap on the marble floor. A cloud of greasy white powder rose up and blanketed the immediate vicinity. The thought of the extra cleaning this would necessitate worked on Arthur like a magic elixir. "Wipe it up, slut!" he screamed, making a final, lurching plunge towards the old drone's nether-flanks and depositing his clotted yellow verdict into the the obscurest reaches of her leathery servant-hole.

Moments later, Arthur chuckled with anticipation as Mrs. Peggins wearily applied a solution of salt and lye to his penis with a stiff brush. In just a few short hours the Watkins brothers would learn that flouting British law could be rather bad for the health. Perhaps fatal, even...eh what?!