They were accompanied by memories of an old, never-quite-forgotten hunger, of other, long-past sensations, memories more than twenty years old, of lip... parting beneath my own, of the scent of her hair and body in the darkness, of the warm, firm softness of her in my arms, of breasts pressing and moving gently against my own through the fabric of our summer dresses, of our breath and saliva mingling, of her wet, probing tongue, of – yes, yes…and then of the sudden, chill, awkward moment when. Reiser said."Maybe they're scared to leave." Same thing, isn't it?" Mr. Reiser asked me with a glance and I shrugged because I didn't know."Maybe," I finally allowed."Imagine a girl who's been a slave for twenty years being set free. She has no money; her parents are old and she has no husband, or even a boyfriend. She might have some children, if she's been bred by a careless Master. Some half-white bastards who can't get any kind of social services, no school or medicine, just handouts from. More

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