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Mom shares her son's panty fetish with a friend.
The house is bigger than it seemed when walking up. Most of it is colored in white walls and gray floors. There is something boring about the house even though it is slightly shrouded in darkness. I don't see Michael or the kid from yesterday. There is a woman singing down the hall who I assume is the wife. If they ever have me picking cotton, then I'm running far away.
Shara has noticed me as I notice all the things surrounding me, but she doesn't say anything. She never says anything when it is relevant. She seems like the perfect lackey as she never questions, but always manages to make a stand in one direction or the other. I wonder what she was like before this life, she hasn't given much up. She is smart enough to have had a career and pretty enough to have someone at home waiting for her.
I follow her walking in stride behind her confident walk. She knows the house really well which surprises me unless she has signed on for multiple months in this house. I know that once my month is up, I'm heading home never to be heard from again. Shara on the other hand, seems at home here. We head down stairs to what is a circular well-lit room off to the corner of the house. Shara opens the wooden doors and steps aside so I can take a good look inside.
"Come in Renee," Master beckons me. He stands juxtaposed against the daylight in all his glorious darkness. His suit is black and a little dusty from whatever he was doing before out impromptu lunch date.
He stands poised on his cane across the stark white room next to a pale white couch. Lunch they told me, but I see no meal in site. I guess I'm to be Master's meal, the perfect food to compliment his hungry appetite.
The room is completely empty except for the looming mountain of a man and the placid couch. Shara exits as I enter. She doesn't look at me and I make a conscious decision not to look at her. She never even greets her Master as she leaves the room. Instead, all of the attention is placed where it needs to be placed, on Master. He stares at me like a piece of meat.
"I'm going to ask you a question," Master's voice booms, "and you have one chance to answer honestly."
I hold my breath. I imagine that the jig is up and that he knows that I'm a reporter. I imagine that I'll have to leave long before I learn anyone's identity or motivations. I imagine so many things and yet I don't even begin to fathom what he is thinking.
"Did my brother see you yesterday?" He asks me and I'm surprised that I hadn't seen it coming. Perhaps this was all a test and I had failed miserably.
I pale. I mull over my answers, but eventually I admit my defeat. If it is a test than there is nothing I can do about it now but be honest. I have to be honest in order to make it through the next few minutes and if I'm lucky the next few days. I have put myself on the line and I refuse to have done this and not dig up something. I can't go home empty handed. I refuse to go home empty handed. I slap on my most innocent looking face and walk closer to him. He will do what he wants, that I'm sure of. All I can do is submit to his desires and hope that it is enough.
"Lean over the couch," he tells me.
I hesitate but his tone beckons me onwards. I remind myself that it is just a month of my life for the story of the century. I could possibly win a noble prize or at the very least hit the talk show circuit.
I lean over the placid couch with my dark brown ass up in the air. Sweat pools at the center of my back and the anticipation causes a tremble down my legs. I hear the deep shuffle of footsteps as he comes behind me. He stops and I can practically feel his stare barreling in to me. His hands fall to my doll-like dress. Without compassion he yanks it up revealing my lack of panties. He moans pleased by my lack of underclothes. He seems to be particularly sensitive to me when I do what he commands.
"Did he touch you?" His tone is sullen as he asks.
There is something almost child-like in his disapproval over my emotions.