I can barely breathe, but I'd rather have the next kiss than my next breath. When we finally part, gasping for air and staring at each other in an odd...sort of wonder, I'm trembling.It doesn't stop me from reaching down and lifting the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and throwing it out into the darkness of the middle of the room. You take advantage of the situation and tackle me, rolling me over onto my back and kissing me again. This time the kisses trail off, across my cheeks and. Fear of rebuke, desire for complements, a Pavlovian response that gradually eroded the rough edges of my former self.In time, I took her uniform, never questioning how fussy it was, how feminine it looked, how utterly impractical it seemed for a menial servant, designed more for visual appeal than hard work.With dwindling resistance, I performed the duties she asked of me, following her willingly down a road that became more intimate with every passing day. Household chores at first, personal. More

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