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Twyla
When the back door to the kitchen closed with a click, I let myself out of the service room warily. I had chosen to dress more appropriately, choosing a long off-white dress I’d found in one of the boxes. It had a tie around the middle that helped cinch the dress without any tailoring required. The material was nice and thick, which was good for me ’cause I wasn’t wearing any underwear. Other than the fact that I only had one pair of panties with me that were currently in the laundry, I also couldn’t bear to put anything that close to the swollen mess that was my pussy. It didn’t hurt very much today, but I could still feel it throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.
I sighed as I thought about what had just happened. What did I think would have happened with my little stunt earlier? That Cedra would take in the tiny dress—better described as lingerie—and throw herself on me, regardless of decorum, dignity and self-control? What a stupid idea. I was really thinking with my cooch, wasn’t I?
Granted, her reaction had been priceless. She hadn’t been able to stop staring and I’d reveled in that stunned look on her face. A small smile creased my lips as I lifted the dirty pan and plate into the sanitizer. Another heavy sigh escaped my lips.
“We meet again.”
I almost dropped the plate in my hands with a small squeak. The house had seemed so quiet; I’d thought I was alone.
Ella emerged from the darkened living room, rubbing her low belly in a distracted way. I hoped she hadn’t noticed my surprised yelp. I’d almost stopped breathing altogether.
“Are you getting on okay with the chores?” she asked, moving to the fridge and running her index finger down the list of produce tagged on it. Her blue checkered dress billowed a little around her, ruffled by the breeze from the window she’d probably opened as I was getting dressed.
I let out a slow breath. “Yes, miss.”
“What did you do yesterday?” She absently ran a palm over the work surface, inspecting her fingers for dust.
“Cleaning and laundry.”
“Very good.”
I turned back to the sanitizer, rubbing a cloth over the plate and pan to make sure the spray from the small nozzle covered every available surface. Cedra seemed like the kind of person to like things clean and in order.
“According to the list on the fridge, you have a few apples turning bad soon. Figures, since Cee doesn’t particularly like them.” She paused to think. “But she likes apple pie. Do you know how to make it? Is it programmed in your settings?”
Oh wow, my favorite. My mouth watered at the thought. While the food on this Star was nourishing and nutritious, the fare I was used to back home was usually more indulgent. Did I miss the soft soufflés and sweet tarts? Yes. But they weren’t worth the trappings that came with going home.
“No, miss,” I said instead, setting aside the clean plate and pan.
Ella rubbed her hands together, her eyes twinkling. “Good, I really needed a project today. Frowh barely lets me do anything in the house. Grab a mixing bowl, Servana. Let’s get started.”
Ella was a real chatterbox. Once she popped open a box of fine flour, the words tumbled out of her without pause. It was nice to have the upbeat chatter as background noise as I peeled, chopped and mixed the different things needed for the pie. If she was bothered by how slowly I was doing things, she didn’t comment on it. I was really trying to concentrate on not cutting myself on the large, sharp knife. I hoped she didn’t know that bots usually came preprogrammed for quick cooking.
She spoke about everything: from her husband Frowh’s homemade mechanical contraption, how it converted movement into energy to power small devices, to the number of times a day she needed to visit the restroom to relieve herself. I guess people didn’t need to filter themselves around bots. Which was just fine with me—it took away the pressure of having to think of things to say. Or saying something that would get me caught.
She paused for breath for just a moment then asked, “Do you know why Cee was smiling this morning? I walked into the house and there she was, happy as a clam. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile—really smile—in years.”
“Why is that?” I asked before I could stop myself. I had been silent throughout her one-woman monologue for the best part of twenty minutes, but her mention of Cedra had my curiosity bubbling to the surface. I mean, what did I really know about the woman whom I was now working for? I think I could count “facts about Cedra” on one hand. And most of them were just about how attractive she was.
Knuckle-deep in a small pile of crumbled butter and natural sugar, I paused as I waited to hear her response.
She didn’t say anything for a while, and when I turned to look at her, her eyes were a little glazed as though she were far away. Lost in memories, perhaps. Her palm still absently stroked her belly. Was it weird that I wanted to ask more about her baby, her life? But I was afraid of giving myself away. Single-syllable responses seemed the best way to go to avoid detection.
I continued crumbing the butter.
Minutes later, she said, “It’s not my place to speak ill of anyone...”
A heavy sigh punctuated her statement.
“But Riane was a bad apple.”
She reached for one of the sugared apple slices on the counter and waved it at me as though she were making a point.
“Cee didn’t see it, of course. To her, Riane could do no wrong. She was madly in love.”
Riane.I remembered the name now. Cedra had muttered it in her sleep that first night when I’d tried to get her comfortable on the couch.
