It began with a shower.
Charlotte - known by pretty much everyone as Charlie - stood there, as the hot water cascaded down onto her body. Her hands roamed slowly, softly caressing her skin. Her smooth, silky skin. She had spent much of that morning at a local beauty salon and had been thoroughly waxed all over. There wasn't a single hair to be found below her shoulders.
She got out and patted herself dry. Then she moved into her bedroom and sat in front of her dresser. After applying a little deodorant and some perfume, Charlie got to work on her makeup. A little blusher, some mascara and lipstick. Nothing too heavy; she wanted to look sexy, but not slutty.
Her clothing choices weren't quite as subtle or discreet. White stockings and garter belt, a little g-string and a half-cup bra that showcased her large breasts, revealing her small pink nipples in all their glory. She put on a short silk robe, but didn't bother tying it up. She dried her hair, brushing it out rhythmically, the dark red tresses, shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight.
Charlie looked at her watch. He'd be home soon. Not long to wait. It felt like a million butterflies had been let loose inside her stomach. She was nervous. She was anxious. She was excited.
The young woman stood up and wandered into her parents' bedroom. Their king size bed was perfectly made, the cotton sheets pristine and untouched.
That's where it'll happen, she thought to herself, that's where it'll begin.
She picked up a family photograph and looked at it intently. It was all of them together; Charlie, her younger brother, her mother, her father. Dad. Daddy. She must have been about eight years old in that picture. A young girl with curly red hair and covered in freckles. He had his arms wrapped round her body. She could remember that moment, what it felt like when he held her. He was so big and she was so small. She could remember his heat, his presence, his strength.
