She is smaller than Rose in every dimension, even tall as she is. But now, soaked to the bone -- bundled up on the floor with her gangly knees near her ears -- Pearl is especially small. Doubly subdued. The collected moisture from the steam and shower have left her normally full-bodied hair in trickled strands and straggles, and it only lends to the pitiful image of some cute little pet left out in the rain.
The dark heat in Rose’s belly curls, languid. Loving.
Poor thing.
She croons, like dolloping cream: “You better believe you’re sorry.”
Just rough enough to qualify above ‘nudge,’ she presses her foot between Pearl’s long knees and separates them, as though sifting through merchandise. The hum Rose makes is almost satisfied. Hard not to be, at what she sees: darling coltish thing, folded up like a toy: wedged politely in the corner of the stall with her petal-pretty centerline bare. So pretty. (Were it not for the tile, she might be leaving a stain.) And Pearl’s so flexible that her thighs lie practically flush with the rest of her body: pale flesh framing strained breaths, and twitching tummy, and ripe lips and clit swollen torturously lush.
Rose wishes she had two Pearls. One to play with forever, and one to eat up in a single bite.
“It must be so hard.” The bathroom is quiet without the water, and Rose’s voice rings especially heavy with it. “Letting your messy little cunt make all these bad choices for you.” Her foot, warm and wet from the water, lifts -- “And having to deal with the consequences.” -- and presses hard against supple flesh.
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The dark heat in Rose’s belly curls, languid. Loving.
Poor thing.
She croons, like dolloping cream: “You better believe you’re sorry.”
Just rough enough to qualify above ‘nudge,’ she presses her foot between Pearl’s long knees and separates them, as though sifting through merchandise. The hum Rose makes is almost satisfied. Hard not to be, at what she sees: darling coltish thing, folded up like a toy: wedged politely in the corner of the stall with her petal-pretty centerline bare. So pretty. (Were it not for the tile, she might be leaving a stain.) And Pearl’s so flexible that her thighs lie practically flush with the rest of her body: pale flesh framing strained breaths, and twitching tummy, and ripe lips and clit swollen torturously lush.
Rose wishes she had two Pearls. One to play with forever, and one to eat up in a single bite.
“It must be so hard.” The bathroom is quiet without the water, and Rose’s voice rings especially heavy with it. “Letting your messy little cunt make all these bad choices for you.” Her foot, warm and wet from the water, lifts -- “And having to deal with the consequences.” -- and presses hard against supple flesh.