Pearl freezes when Rose stops her, then leaps to obey -- arms out knees spread -- holding herself so open and so very still, so that Rose can reach all of her, all her of sensitive and tender body, an instrument played skillfully by Rose's hands. Muscles trembling and flexing under her flushed skin as she tries hopelessly not to move, even as the towel strokes her exactly where she wants to be touched, coaxing a quick movement from her hips, and another--
Rose is counting, Rose has started counting! With a gasp, Pearl moves, stumbling towards the bedroom, then speeding up into a half-run...five, six, seven and she nearly trips on a corner of carpet, catches herself just in time. Resists the urge to glance over her shoulder back at Rose -- a look could destroy her right now, could turn her to salt, or stone...
eleventwelvethirteenfourteen
Her heart is thudding adrenaline as she clambers on the bed, Rose's coverlet (fluffy, fluffy against the skin of her cheek) dipping under her knees, ready to swallow her up. It smells like Rose -- she only notices this half-consciously, an afterthought or maybe something she already knew, occupied as she is with her obedience. Spreading her legs paradoxically makes her all the more aware of how wet she is still, Rose's toweling nothwithstanding. She puts her hands in the small of her back, wrapping the fingers of her left white-knuckled around the wrist of her right, and the act is torment when all she really wants to do is to reach down between her legs and grind slow and deliberate against the curve of her palm, draw her fingers through sticky pleasure as Rose...watches... Almost unconsciously, her hips jerk -- grinding into the blankets -- as if it could bring her any relief.
no subject
Rose is counting, Rose has started counting! With a gasp, Pearl moves, stumbling towards the bedroom, then speeding up into a half-run...five, six, seven and she nearly trips on a corner of carpet, catches herself just in time. Resists the urge to glance over her shoulder back at Rose -- a look could destroy her right now, could turn her to salt, or stone...
eleventwelvethirteenfourteen
Her heart is thudding adrenaline as she clambers on the bed, Rose's coverlet (fluffy, fluffy against the skin of her cheek) dipping under her knees, ready to swallow her up. It smells like Rose -- she only notices this half-consciously, an afterthought or maybe something she already knew, occupied as she is with her obedience. Spreading her legs paradoxically makes her all the more aware of how wet she is still, Rose's toweling nothwithstanding. She puts her hands in the small of her back, wrapping the fingers of her left white-knuckled around the wrist of her right, and the act is torment when all she really wants to do is to reach down between her legs and grind slow and deliberate against the curve of her palm, draw her fingers through sticky pleasure as Rose...watches... Almost unconsciously, her hips jerk -- grinding into the blankets -- as if it could bring her any relief.