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Even though you knew that Annette would be killed no matter what you decided.? i didn’t feel proud by Mistress's words. i was mortified! How dare Mistress play this type of babyish game with me? Perhaps if SHE was substantially older than me, it might have been different. But to be treated like a little child by somebody who was so much younger than me? It was downright humiliating. But at the end of the day, with Annette dead, - Mistress would have no choice but to acquiesce to the will of HER Mother and the Security Council. Mistress abruptly stood up and walked to HER desk. Nobody asked HER where SHE was going. 'This is what being a slave is', i realized. We would all wait respectfully until such time that SHE chose to return. We had no right to expect courtesy. We were simply slaves and our entire existence was based on one single task: To do Mistress's will. We would wait for Mistress for hours or days if so ordered. If Mistress never returned, we would probably not move. From my side view of you, your nipples poked proudly against the fabric. Those hard nipples must love the feel of that fabric, I said to myself. You caught me staring, but instead of covering up, you returned my stare for a few moments before looking away. We clipped along, rocking and getting bumped about by the ages old cars. For the most part, our bodies instinctively remembered and expected every rough patch of track from town to the rural station. My mind kept telling me your stare was an invitation. Only one way to find out if that was an invitation or not. I slowly slid my hand around your thigh, fingers stopping between your legs. I squeezed your thigh roughly, and watched your face for any change of expression, but you ignored my hand. I squeezed your thigh harder, forcing your legs wider apart. Again, no change in expression. I ran my hand up and down your leg slowly a few times, testing your limits. The third time my hand neared your panties, your eyes closed and your grip.
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