This was how I thought religious converts must feel when receiving God, like a divine freedom within voluntary captivity.I waited. Margaret was in fro...nt of me now, threading the filigree chain through the top of the key. She clasped it round her neck, adjusted it, and the key now hung down between her small breasts. Her hands floated to my shoulders as she gazed questioningly into my eyes. She must have seen what she wanted because her face moved closer, lips parting. I received her kiss. They were, strangely enough, gentle. Each seizedthe front of a pair of panties and barely grazed the skin beneath. The women'slegs were free to move, so they twisted and frantically kicked, but it didno good. Their pants were all tugged past their toes, then deposited on theasphalt. The crowd roared its approval. "Disloyal scum!" her Ladyship hissed, then returned to her weeping. Her blueheels continued to kick. "Oh, my panties!" Madame cried. "Truly it is bitter . . . this panty-tuggingtime!". My salad arrived, and I ate it slowly, ponderously. I tried to think about what I wanted, but all I could focus on was what I didn't have -- like him, for instance.Occasionally, I'd glance up at him, but he was always in the same position. When his food arrived, he at it quickly and deliberately, and left. I finished a few minutes later, and went back to my worthless job.That night, I masturbated for over two hours. I wasn't horny, I was empty. I had to keep the loneliness away. It had been. She could still feel her body reacting to her shared masturbatory session, and as she looked at her sister, and could see the redness still infusing her vulva, she wondered how Abby could be so completely blasé about her body, about her sexual urges, immature as they might be compared to an older woman. Glancing around, she could not tell if everyone was aware of their recent activity. Perhaps it was just because Gwen ‘knew’ what they’d been doing that she thought it was obvious.Izzy could not.