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Her hand reached up to stroke my face as her other hand dropped off the table to grip the bulge in my pants. My heart was racing when, right then, we both heard the front door open. "Mom, Mom, I brought you…oh…" and Betty's daughter was standing framed in the bedroom door gaping at us, my hands on her mother's oil-glazed boobs, her legs spread, naked on the table. I froze but Betty didn't. No, she didn't skip a beat. "Susan, dear, do pour yourself a glass of wine, we should be done soon." Her daughter smiled and winked at me, turned and walked toward the kitchen. "Mmm, now, where were we?" To say I was a bit distracted would be, of course, an understatement. But, I didn't stop massaging Betty, not for a minute, I was soon back down on her abdomen and below, making sure to retrace my steps where I knew so well now that she wanted me to go. I had three fingers in her and my other hand circling her clit as I wondered just what was going through her daughter's mind right at that moment.. That's not right. So I hopped up, straightened the covers and kneeled at the foot of the bed. I remember reading some story online that detailed all the different positions a slave should know, and I'd even practiced them a time or two to see how it would feel. I settled into what I thought of as 'Position 1'; kneeling, knees spread, back straight, hands palm up on my thighs. I sat still and made a big mental note to spend a lot more time thinking of things from John's perspective.In only a minute or two I found myself in a trance, like meditation. I was simply waiting for my man, for my Sir. My horniness had morphed into a deep satisfaction. I was where I was supposed to be. Everything was right with the world, and my heart swelled with love thinking about John. He'd be coming down the hallway any minute now, and we'd be together, and I couldn't think of anything better in the world. The butterflies had stilled, and I felt like I was a bed of coals, not the flaming, consuming fire.
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