Watching the little flickers and flexes in Pearl’s expression as she talks is a treat in itself. Rose can watch as her eyes haze -- lashes shutter low -- and all the images Pearl has to listen to in glowing, siren coils paint themselves into a film reel on the inside of her eyelids.

(Can hear the way she squirms underfoot to her favorite ones.)

She’s so sweet, tending to the thumb in her mouth; attentive and gentle and supple-mouthed. Rose purrs her approval, bringing another hand to Pearl’s cheek -- strokes the back of a knuckle along the water trickling there.

“That’s lovely, Pearl.” Touch wanders, from there, teasing along the pink shell of her ear: fondles the soft lobe. The flesh would fit so nicely between Rose’s teeth...

She carefully tugs her thumb free, pausing only to trace it along Pearl’s lower lip: nibbled plump from all her self-restraint.

(God. That would fit nicely, too.)

“Tell me.” Rose’s voice stays tender, but its glinting, flinty edges begin again to drop hints. “You want to be good, sweetheart. Don’t you?”

Her heel lifts from the shower floor -- props along the wash bench -- as her hand smooths from knee towards her thigh. The crux of her sex sits inches from Pearl’s lips: flushed full and impatient.

“Show me.”

Her other hand threads through the water-thick locks of hair: coaxing.