She was a doe in my headlights and she knew it. “Sir?” she said softly. I pressed her gently but firmly back, stepped into the laundry room with h...r, and pushed the sliding door shut behind me. There was barely enough room for both the two of us to shift or move. My slave opened her mouth to make a surprised protest, doubtlessly thinking of the kids just newly put to bed. I silenced her with my kiss. Reaching up into her hair, my fingers gripped a handful of her silken, dark locks. I pulled her. He blushed a hot, deep red, and coughed nervously."Yes, Ma'am, it's on your deck. The duck... The... thing."Jemima's breath quickened a little, and she breathed in and out through her mouth. She still had the glorious taste of cum in her mouth, and she wondered if Jimmy could smell it. The gentle musky cologne was surely rising in the air as the sweat crept from her pores, and mixed in the now invisible dried compress over her neck."Now, Jimmy, I don't make you nervous, do I?" she asked him. At once I feel a painful stab of regret because this most basic female desire seems to have been plucked from me."Hmmm," continues Alana brightly. "Well, we might want to have you bred – when the time comes of course."Bred? It seems like such a clinical term. Yes, but who would look after the child? Perhaps that's implied by the "might want to have you bred"? Would I merely surrogate for another couple or would they let me keep my children? Or is that the idea? That I would produce more slaves. It was none of her damn business what he did with other women. Men could do sleep around, but good women weren’t supposed to. As he sat there, drinking beer and fuming, he saw a sheriff’s department cruiser swing into the diner parking lot. He ducked down and, in doing so, bumped his head on the half-full case of beer on the seat next to him. His truck was in the back of the parking lot, in a shadowy area next to a dumpster and was hidden well enough that the deputy in the car didn’t see him.
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