MRS HEMLOCK - PASSING THE LIBRARY<br/><br/>Leaving Master Alistair's rooms (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=82992.msg3660482#msg3660482) I moved about the house, observing here, advising there, correcting elsewhere. The afternoon wore on and for half an hour I noted the maids were all at their tasks and the household was performing well. I had not seen Mister Pollock, he must be busy organising some heavy duties with some of the footmen. Or he may be sampling a house-strumpet in his office, if he was it was not my concern. We worked well as a team though for some reason had never yet enjoyed congress, our relationship was a good solid working one. Perhaps I might take him to my bed this Christmas, as a present. Or invite myself along with a slave into his. Hm.<br/><br/>I mused pleasantly over the possible combinations of one male part and six female holes for a while and noted more guests were arriving and being shown their rooms. I passed the hallway, an officer was being shown in by Emma and George. I gently tapped Emma's shoulder,<br/><br/><strong>"Please give the gentleman the Bamboo Room, Emma. Thank you."</strong>I then withdrew with a polite smile to the officer. You could tell an Indian officer a mile off. The home service fellows were pasty skinned from living in Shoeburyness barracks for years or some such place, while those of our gallant lads who had given their all for service to Her Majesty showed the traces of Indian sun where it had coloured their skin almost permanently. I too bore a similar skin tone, though being a servant and a woman I had remained indoors mostly, or when outside, under a parasol.<br/><br/>If he was an Indian officer then he might enjoy the Asiatic décor of the bamboo room.<br/><br/>I moved down the hall and paused before the library doorway. The brunette slave was at work hanging greenery. She was up a ladder fixing mistletoe over the doorway. I watched her trim ankles for a moment and my hand went back to my belly and cupped... squeezing. I needed it. Laying the leather across that new slave had got me quite worked up.<br/><br/>We never used our old slaves names, in fact we rarely even knew them. His Lordship had named this girl Flo. It may have been short for Florence or it may be that she flowed well, gushing like a stream, a joke was often good enough reason to name a slave.<br/><br/><strong>"Flo. Busy I see. Good to see you eager to please about the house. Off that ladder. Come here."</strong>My voice wasn't quite neutral, it bore a slight edge, just a slight one. Then again the girls knew my temper, it didn't take much to push me from mild annoyance to "you are about to die horribly you worthless whore!" levels of annoyance. Right now it was the dress. Where had she got a green dress from?