Mistress Mine

3

She tapped her long nails on the hard wood desk she's been sitting on for the last couple of hours. She had brought home a few assignments to do over the two weeks of her stay, but every time she started on them, she'd just get distracted, catching herself daydreaming halfway through proofreading her graphs. It was a disaster in the making. She still hadn't figured out a way to tell her boyfriend about it. He wasn't against slavery, per se, he just had certain ideals and thoughts that didn't fit together with what she's about to tell him.

On the other hand, she didn't think she should make assumptions on what his reaction may be. He was the type of individual who could be defined as understanding. It's why she was drawn to him in the first place. Well, that, along with his golden eyes and defined jaw.

As if her day dreaming took a more realistic form, she found deep eyes staring at hers. They weren't golden, though, these were very expressive. Her eyes slid down his face to the crooked nose, than to the parted lips.

She blinked, and he averted his gaze. They couldn't have locked their eyes for more than a second, before he was going to his knees on the empty rug beside her desk.

The kneeling would have to stop, she decided. Thinking of her lover scrunching his nose in distaste. He'd commented on it once when they were on the subway, how he thought the kneeling bodies on the tram to be the utmost of absurdity.

But she wouldn't have to worry about it until another week. Until then, it didn't matter if the slave kneeled or prostated himself. There would be room for correction later.

Sitting her mug of hot chocolate down beside her laptop, he adjusted the handle so she could easily grab for it, then set down a small bowl of minicookies. She frowned, the worse thing that has happened since she arrived at her parent's place, well, aside from the slave, was her ruined diet. Her boiled veggies long forgotten, the healthy menu she maintained overseas replaced with pastries and chocolate treats. She looked at him, ready to snap, this won't do, it won't do at all.

Over the last few days, they've grown more familiar with each other's presence. Or at least, as familiar as she'd allow it. She kept him away and out of her sight, often ordering him to the room adjacent to her bathroom, with the single bed and the closet with sliding glass doors. The first time, he'd kept the door open, presumably to hear her if she called him. But she made a point of asking him to close the door behind him afterwards, so she wouldn't have to look at him every time she passed.

She wasn't mad at him, she knew that her inability to stand up to her mother was in no way his fault. That he had little say on who bought him and where he ended up. But that didn't help ease her dry attitude towards him, if anything, it only made it worse. Especially with him taking her attitude as any slave would, bowing his head and apologising, repeatedly, for something he hasn't done.

It only infuriated her further.

"Anything else, Ma'am?"

When she glanced up, He was still kneeling there, his head craned forward, his eyes shining with something she still couldn't place even after the few days she had him buzzing around her. It would probably take her months to figure him out, not that she was planning on it.

"No. If I want something, I'll ask."

She went back to her illuminated screen, brushing him away as she reached for her mug, but he hadn't moved.

She raised her head, arching her eyebrow, waiting.

"If I may, ma'am?"

"What is it."

"Today is the Dalfest." He said, mentioning the one day of the year where slaves typically were allowed a free pass to mingle. Most owners let their slaves join with the slaves with the other households and together they'd go on an outing similar to a free people's picnic, usually lasted til the next day's morning hours.

It was obvious to Suzanna what he was asking, without really asking.

"You can go." She waved him off, she suspected that she wouldn't have felt his absence if he left with the rest of the slaves without telling her beforehand.

"I don't-" He fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable, before saying, "That's not what I wanted to ask you, Ma'am."

"So you don't want to go." She said. "I don't care either way. You do whatever you want."

"That's not-." He started saying, but quickly amended that line of speach, probably trying to get the words out before she cut him off and made the wrong assumption again. "I wondered if you'd like a specific choice of food. I couldn't do that the last few days since Sida was around. But with her going tomorrow, I thought I could ask you if-"

Sida had been around long before Suzanna could even recall. And if she remembered correctly, Sida always left an early made launch every year before she left. "Sida isn't leaving sandwiches?"

"Yes, Mistress." He nodded, "But I thought I could do something different, if you'd like."

"Don't bother." She shook her head. "I'll have whatever Sida leaves."

The last time she'd seen someone so crestfallen was in the mall, when a little boy's mother refused to buy him his choice of candy.