My other hand found her firm butt and squeezed."Could you do that with me, please," she said, as if she were asking me to open a paint-stuck window. "It was wonderful, what we did, but it was more than two years ago." A tear rolled down her plump cheek, and I bent and kissed it away, tasting the salt, and moving my hands to hold her slim shoulders. That was my second mistake of the day.She hurried on, the words tumbling out, as my hands moved down toward her rump, pressing our stomachs together, "There's no one here, the servants have off until sundown. I'm sure I remember how we did it." She rubbed her heaving chest against my forearm, buttons somehow all undone, her chest flushing even pinker. "My father won't be home before then either, maybe until dark. I think about it in the mornings sometimes and squeeze my legs together, you know, but, but..."She hugged herself, almost pushing both breasts out of her lacey shirt and her voice returned to the whisper. She lifted the leg. ” and stood up straight, “Finish eating so I can put you up.”She had the audacity to stand right over me while I ate. I was, all of a sudden, not in a hurry to finish up anymore. I was bound and determined to make her stand there as long as possible and took the smallest bites possible. I fully expected a slap or a jab or, knowing Miss Hitler, a zap. But she stood there and let me finish without complaining.I was the one that gave up and swallowed the last of my food. Next was the drink and I sipped at it as if it were hot. Apparently, that was the line I shouldn’t have crossed as she slapped the back of my head causing the cup to spill out and up my nose.“You’re done goofing off!” she proclaimed, “Put your shit up and let’s go.”Blowing lemonade and snot out of my nose, I finally got the word “Bitch!” out. I snatched up a napkin right before she snatched me up by my hair. “Mother f...” I started, being led around the bench seat I was sitting on.“Get your dishes and put them up.” she.
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