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But, dear reader, it was more often than not Carrie, with unspoken encouragement, who would initiate such play. And so, I was content to blissfully just let things slide. We happily went about our life. I was always pleasantly surprised with her creativity, to maybe find her gently dropping a breast on my face to rouse me in the morning, or forcefully shoving a bra in my mouth like a gag, taunting me with its size, during our rough play at night. With each enlargement, however, I felt it became less and less just play. I felt, more and more, that in the heat of passion part of her actually wanted to do it, to crush my head, to smother me at her breast. I remember one evening in particular, an evening where we were back at our apartment, just returned after a few margaritas by the pool. Both of us a little drunk, she was rummaging around the kitchen in her bikini, a thin towel about her hips, searching the cabinets for something while I sat on the couch, thinking she was fixing me. "I don't know what to say, Mistress. I've failed you." She held in her tears. She would not cry. "We had a deal. I turn your life around, pay your alimony, and you keep my people safe," Donna hissed. "You couldn..." "Enough," Anne said quietly from the bed. Amazingly enough, Donna did stop. The smaller woman climbed out from between two girls and walked over to Donna and the trembling Beth. "Let's talk in an area with less ears." She put on a white terrycloth robe and went out on the veranda overlooking the courtyard. It was still early morning and no one was below among the orange trees and herb gardens. One of Beth's security team looked at them from the roof, but left at a gesture from her chief. "Anne, you better have a damn good reason to interrupt me dressing down this slave of mine," Donna said quietly in a menacing tone. Anne raised one of her eyebrows at Donna then turned to Beth, "Is it safe to talk here?" "Yes, we sweep it for bugs six times a day, Lady Anne," she.
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