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Show Woodworth/132 3 poke under the short sleeves of the shirt, and she feels a gust shoot up through her torso and out both arms. Intimate, as if he had put his hand under the hem of her skirt, up between her thighs, with all these people near. The bar is crowded, and people push against her, trying to keep the walkways clear, trying to lean up to the bar. She moves in closer until she can feel his breathing in her hair- His hand moves higher, strokes across her shoulder, across the back of her neck, behind her hair. She lets him stroke her, head bent, submissive. "Mmmm," he sighs. He has one leg up on the foot rest. She wonders if she could touch him here. Too many people tr> notice, probably. But her hands are frozen, her shoulders won't co-operate. So she moves her knee, shifts her weight, pretending to lean into the massage further. Rests her inner thigh against the inner side of his leg. And rubs, slightly, up and down. "Mmmm." He stops rubbing, and cups his hand across the back of her neck so that she looks up at him. "You're a pretty sexy lady, you know that?" he asks. "That's what mistresses are for," she says, • "Mistress," he laughs. He laughs so spontaneously, so often. She can never tell why he is laughing, if something is funny, if he is making fun of her, or if he just doesn't know what else to do. But at least he's laughing. And mistresses are to make people laugh, too. To listen to their stories. To take on their burdens. All of them. And make things easier for them. Almost like re-charging their bodies. They plug themselves into you, you would think they are giving something to you. Something special, that you should be grateful for. But actually, they are only giving away something that they don't want. But the trick is that she can take it. Tiffi1" 1,t. imn from them, and it doesn't bother her- So t§ |