“Oh, yes...” Her hips want to ripple and roll against her mouth but Rose resists. Even if only barely. Cants them forward, though, to grant some more room. Rose’s chin drinks back, blending somewhere between whisper and moan, and she threads a gentle massage along Pearl’s crown as encouragement: “That’s wonderful...”

It is. It’s wonderful. Maybe Rose can handle not smothering the poor thing, but it’s awful hard to keep from voicing her approval.

She’s just so sweet. So eager to please. For all their hours of the day spent in nervous chewing and scowls, Pearl’s lips are soft: worshipful. For all their moments of pause and timidity they smooth over her gorgeously -- they suckle and sweep -- they move in tender tandem to kiss pleasure into Rose and... goodness. It makes Rose want to kiss right back.

Golden-glowing warmth swirls in the bowl of her hips, and Rose untethers another sigh -- “So good,” -- and contemplates what follows after her own little piece of relief. Pearl’s misbehaved, after all.

Her back is bowed too much to see clearly over her belly, but -- with a sweet knead along Pearl’s scalp, and an especially luxurious shift of her hips -- Rose hums. The sound is knowing.

“You’ve dropped the showerhead.” Her voice is deceptively honeycomb-sweet: thick, and buzzing with danger. “Haven’t you, Pearl?”