Read Online The Price of Hannah Blake by Walter Donway - Free Book Online Page A

changing body against her mum’s. Her mum’s titties were much bigger than Hannah’s, hanging down; dressed, her mum had a deep cleavage. And more hair to cover her pussy.
    She heard a knock, sharp and commanding, and called, “Wait! No!” She had meant to wash, deal with the smell, but now she glanced around for clothes. The door swung open and Cara stood there. Obviously, she had a key to the rooms. As she entered, her expression was stolid, uninterested in Hannah’s nakedness. “Come,” she said. “It’s time.” Hannah quickly went to the clothes still on the floor where she had let them drop. Apparently, Cara was not surprised to see them thrown there. But she said, “no,” and came over to snatch them up. She tucked them all, like rags, under her arm, then opened the closet on the racks and racks of clothing. She plucked garments from their hangers or from shelves. “These, today. Now.”
    Hannah took them. The same as yesterday, the loose white blouse—soft cotton, so expensive—and something like white bloomers, loose but with less bulk. Still, she did not move to dress, glancing up at Cara. Cara said, “That is all. Hurry.”
    When Hannah had dressed, stepped into her sandals, she felt aware of her breasts, hips, and buttocks against the thin cloth. It almost stimulated her; how could she wear this all day? No woman, ever, anywhere, she imagined, would appear this way in public. But then, she might not wear them all day—and wish that she could. She had spent her short life bound, strapped, and layered, covering and concealing herself. The blouse, open around the neck, revealed her shoulders, upper back, chest. But soon she might be naked. She shrugged, and, when Cara turned and walked out the door, she followed.
    Chattering, laughing, sometimes shouting boys and girls already filled the dining hall. Cara led Hannah to a table, gestured at a seat, and said, “Here.” Get food and eat. Then follow the others; do what they do,” and she walked away. Hannah stepped after her, “Will I be naked?”
    “Do what they do. Do what they tell you.”
    Hannah returned to her seat; she didn’t dare look around. There were men here who saw her strip, be squeezed, penetrated—and saw her betrayed into pleasure. They would imagine everything under her light clothing. Would they smirk, wave, smile a special smile? Keeping her eyes focused ahead, she rose and walked to the food. But, once there, she could not decide what to do. Did people here eat meat for breakfast— every day? And the eggs, eggs round and white and soft-looking and piled in a big heap? She might try those, again; she had eaten eggs.
    “This way,” said a girl’s voice beside her and a hand closed on her biceps. It was gentle, guiding, not dragging. Hannah turned and looked into the smile of a girl she had noticed the day before—tall, with the compact breasts, and intent only on Maria, seemingly unconscious of her nudity. Hannah followed; the girl was taller than Hannah, by a bit, and moved with grace. Hannah saw that her red hair was shorter than the hair of many of the others. The girl’s hips swayed and through her clothes, the same as Hannah’s, her buttocks were outlined, even the crack. Hannah must look that way, too. What could she do? Nothing, it seemed—nothing, yet.
    “I’m Charlotte,” said the girl when they stood at the end of the table. “I’m Hannah.” Charlotte smiled; it seemed the most friendly, welcoming face Hannah had encountered since that evening, walking home—in her other life, gone forever, two days ago. Could that be possible? Charlotte filled two trays with food: slippery slices of orange fruit, fresh bread softer than any Hannah ever had seen, gobs of golden butter, black jam, tea. Hannah stared; what would she do with all this? Suddenly she felt famished; she had not eaten in 24 hours except a bit of fruit, a bite of cheese, in Maria’s room. There had been no dinner afterward. Why?
    She was