Thank god Pearl’s already crouched in the corner, or her legs would almost certainly have given out from under her. Her head tips back to follow Rose as she rises: collared and leashed and wound tight around the diamond edge of her grin.

The threat is almost unbelievable, but Pearl's brain, fevered with desire, can't help but imagine what it would be like. To be suspended in Rose's orbit, pulled in but held at arm's length, watching her float and flirt her way through every long, long day--

For a month!

Perhaps Rose, instead of touching her, would make her touch herself -- have Pearl run her hands down her own willowy body -- thumb at her nipples -- yearning for Rose's touch but allowed only her own fingers, stroking herself achingly slow, or a vibe against her clit, or this very showerhead--

Perhaps Rose would make her watch as she touched herself, or someone el-- the fantasy threatens to career out of control, and Pearl wrenches herself away, her cheeks burning. Her knuckles around the showerhead are bone white, and not even Rose's gentle hand in her hair can soothe her this time.

Her throat is so, so dry. "Y-yes...please."