allie-cat:
Allie eyed the mistress from across the room, it was the same woman she met her first night at the castle. She remembered that night miserably but there was something good about it, something that drew her back to the mistress. She slowly made her way closer to the blonde with the platter of drinks in hand, swallowing a nervous gulp.
Hearing the mistress speak sent shivers down her spine, “I’m sorry Miss I wasn’t going to ask to dance. I was going to ask you if you’d like a drink,” she said nervously, stumbling on her words.
Her little peach: at once, she wonders if she would be juicy to bite into tonight.
She is exquisite, and she feels pride welling deep within her—she is beautiful, and she was part of creating that, in an inadvertent way. For a moment, she observes her without saying much: she wants to take it in, and her own expression morphs into hunger, as if she might consume her whole any moment.
“A drink,” she repeats, for she had been stuck in her own head for several moments. ‘Yes, pour me one,” she answers. But, she waits until Allie is busy preparing it—and she reaches down, to probe between her legs with a finger, pushing it against the panty barrier. She watches with amusement, hopes the girl drops it all.
“Something wrong, Peach?” she smirks.
