"Careful, now. Too eager, and you'll lose." That sounds sufficiently cryptic. Rose lets her smile dip into a more smug register as she brings her fingers to Pearl's collar and presses, gently -- nestling her back into the corner like before.
"We'll play a little discipline game." Press of lips to Pearl's, drinking her in so gently (safe, safe, safe), while Rose's hand reaches behind her for the showerhead. "See how much self-control my sweet thing has."
Rose takes one of Pearl's hands and brings the showerhead to it: shapes her fingers over Pearl's, to lace her fingers over the handle. Studies her face, too, and tries not to smirk at what she finds there.
In the next moment, she moves from the floor to the wash bench; the looming effect is not subtle. "I'm going to finally step out of these wet clothes." Pearl's hair parts easily for her fingers as she strokes, as she croons. "And you're going to watch me, and get your pretty little pussy nice and clean."
Her fingers rove. Gentle. Dreamy. They bracket the back of Pearl's nape: threat and pet alike.
"If you come," Rose's voice lulls, "you lose. If you look away, you lose. And if you let the showerhead move too far away -- and I'll be watching -- you lose. And if you lose, I'm not going to touch you for a month." Her smile is the cut and crack of lacquer. "Not even if you beg."
(A bluff, of course. But it's important Pearl doesn't pick up on that. Pretty thing is so much more vocal when she's just a little bit nervous.)
Her strokes conclude -- Pearl's hair looks oddly slicked-back now, that's cute -- and Rose tips a loving, petit-four smile down to the girl she wants to have coming in her bed within the hour. Pearl's managed to remember what name to moan each time they've been together, so far. Has yet to come so hard she can't say 'Rose.' Perhaps that can change tonight. "Would you like me to start you off?"
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"Careful, now. Too eager, and you'll lose." That sounds sufficiently cryptic. Rose lets her smile dip into a more smug register as she brings her fingers to Pearl's collar and presses, gently -- nestling her back into the corner like before.
"We'll play a little discipline game." Press of lips to Pearl's, drinking her in so gently (safe, safe, safe), while Rose's hand reaches behind her for the showerhead. "See how much self-control my sweet thing has."
Rose takes one of Pearl's hands and brings the showerhead to it: shapes her fingers over Pearl's, to lace her fingers over the handle. Studies her face, too, and tries not to smirk at what she finds there.
In the next moment, she moves from the floor to the wash bench; the looming effect is not subtle. "I'm going to finally step out of these wet clothes." Pearl's hair parts easily for her fingers as she strokes, as she croons. "And you're going to watch me, and get your pretty little pussy nice and clean."
Her fingers rove. Gentle. Dreamy. They bracket the back of Pearl's nape: threat and pet alike.
"If you come," Rose's voice lulls, "you lose. If you look away, you lose. And if you let the showerhead move too far away -- and I'll be watching -- you lose. And if you lose, I'm not going to touch you for a month." Her smile is the cut and crack of lacquer. "Not even if you beg."
(A bluff, of course. But it's important Pearl doesn't pick up on that. Pretty thing is so much more vocal when she's just a little bit nervous.)
Her strokes conclude -- Pearl's hair looks oddly slicked-back now, that's cute -- and Rose tips a loving, petit-four smile down to the girl she wants to have coming in her bed within the hour. Pearl's managed to remember what name to moan each time they've been together, so far. Has yet to come so hard she can't say 'Rose.' Perhaps that can change tonight. "Would you like me to start you off?"