Angel’s eyes started to fill with water as the realization of this horse settled in her mind. Pulling Angel back into her arms, Beth said in a soothing voice, “Don’t worry little slave. You are the only one that decides to ride the horse. And when you do, and you will decided to ride it, you will do so out of your love for your Master.”“Oh Beth, I am afraid! I am afraid that I might fail my Master. How can a woman my size ride a wooden horse like that?” Now Angel was crying. Weeping into the shoulder of her friend and slave sister.“You do not need to ride the horse. For most of your life as Master’s slave you will never need to experience any of the devices in the barn.” Pushing Angel’s shoulders away from her so that the two girls could look into each others eyes, Beth continued, “Look honey, you have already succeeded as Master’s slave. All he requires of you is your desire to be his slave. You have lots of that … desire.”With those word of reassurance Angel fell back. However, it achieved what we intended it to achieve; we didn’t look suspiciously well-fed and provided for, any longer, having survived for six weeks, purely on what we could get on civilian ration cards; fake as our identities though they were.On the morning of the fifteenth day, Mistress produced a bottle of expensive Cognac to share with me, over breakfast. Compared to what we were accustomed to living on, breakfast was cheap and miserable, but we had full stomachs at breakfast time for the first day in two weeks, and that counted for a lot. We also had a shot of Cognac each, which became two shots, and then three shots, and sort of expanded into us emptying the bottle between us and us becoming rather drunk, before drunkenly making love for the very first time; while giggling like giddy schoolgirls. Mistress didn’t drink more than a single shot; a double at the most, on any day, and neither did I, and therefore we couldn’t handle our drink. After hiding in our new apartment.
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