Indian House Wife

Goodnight, ma'am."Karen pressed a sequence of keys on the phone, replaced it in the boxand closed the lid. She reached for the tumbler of scotch that had beensitting on her desk since Melanie arrived. She took a sip of thegolden-brown liquid, and let it melt its way across her tongue, and downher throat to spread a comfortable warmth through her. She enjoyedrationing herself a portion of her favored Glenmorangie late on Saturdaynights. It took her back to her youth, of pleasant memories and timesnear forgotten. Times before the pain. Before the Network that tookaway the pain and gave her Purpose.She thought back to when she met the woman that changed her life. Carmenwas the only name she ever knew her by, but Carmen had saved her fromthe downward spiral she'd found herself in after three years of marriageto a "man" that saw Karen as nothing more than a servant and areceptacle for his cock. She'd been on the verge of believing his lieswhen he'd been killed by the police in a. He seemed genuinely concerned. “Yes I have,” I answered honestly. I blinked and remembered where we were. “What are you doing here?” “Working. I am kind of glad you didn’t call. I would have had to cancel. There was an emergency here.” “Yes, I know.” “You do, huh? What are you doing here?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “Visiting a friend.” Those eyes narrowed a bit more but he did not say a word. “So what is your plan for the rest of the day?” I shrugged. “Nothing really.” “Come with me then?” He said it like a question but I heard a bit of command. It thrilled me in a way. “To?” I smiled. “A motel.” My smile slipped. “What?” I asked incredulously. “I am sorry. I’m certain I did not hear you correctly.” “You heard me just fine,” he said, gripping above my elbow and pulling me to the farthest corner of the room. “We are adults. I want you. You want me. Please come with me.” “I don’t do that sort of thing. You have got the wrong girl,” I said jerking my arm out of his grip. The.
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