The bedroom is lit by two dozen candles. Sitting on the antique furniture, they make it seem like a chapel, with the four poster bed the high altar. A stick of lavender incense adds its flavor to the atmosphere, making everything surreal.
She lies on the bed beneath red satin sheets, covered to her neck. The upper sheet is untucked. Flat on her back, her arms and legs spread, she waits for him.
He enters, in a dark shirt and slacks with a touch of white at his throat, and slowly advances to the bedside. She looks at him, her blonde hair spread on the pillow, her eyes shining in the candlelight. Floating across the room, he settles on the bed to her right, his hair a leopard's mane, his hands strong and supple, his touch a butterfly on the sheet next to her. "Are you ready, Sweetness?"
"Yes, Father."
"May I stroke the sheet, Sweetness?"
"Yes, Father. But remember, that's all you can do."
His hand wanders over to the outline of her form, running up and down her side, making her giggle. It wanders upward, tracing the mounds, sailing down the slopes to the valley and up the lower curves. She closes her eyes and she smiles, her body turning ever so slightly to accept the touch. He pushes the button on a remote, and Gregorian chant wafts through the air.
"I have a thought, Sweetness."
"Yes, Father?"
"I would like to see your leg."
"How much of it? Not all of it?"
"No, Sweetness. Just the lower part, from just above your knee. Would that be all right?"
"Yes, Father. But remember, that's all you can do."
Her right leg emerges from its silken lair. Smooth and long, lightly toasted brown by the sun, delicate feet with red toenails. He turns to trace her calf, up past her knee on the inside and up to the boundary before returning all the way to the arch of her foot. She sighs and giggles and takes deep breaths as his hand sweeps her flesh.
After a short time, he pulls a silk scarf from the dresser. "I would like to decorate your leg, Sweetness."
"Yes? Where?" "I think this would look lovely just above your knee."
She thinks for a moment. "I think so, too. But no farther."
Gently, he ties the flowery banner just above her knee letting the end spread out. "Is that too tight, Sweetness?"
"No."
"There is something more I would like to see."
"What?"
"Your arm. Would you let me expose your arm?"
"I don't know."
"I love your angelic fingers and strong muscles."
"All right. But no farther."
"Of course, Sweetness." He pulls back the cover exposing her arm: her hand is delicate and her fingernails red. Grasping her hand, he strokes her forearm while kissing the back of her hand gallantly. Then, he kisses each finger of her hand, inside and outside, and her holds out her palm for him to bury his face in. His arm ranges upward, stroking above her elbow.
After a while, he has another request. "Sweetness, I would like to decorate your wrist."
"Oh. How?"
"I would like something similar to the decoration on your leg."
