My fingers beg to trace the lines of that perfect flesh, to explore the angles and nuances of my Pet. I seek out the hidden places, the rises and the ...alls of a body that is, by a willing gift of your soul, mine to do with as I please. If I trace a line with one fingertip down your side, at what point does it finally reach your hip? How does my hand feel when gripped around that hip? What sounds fall from your lips when first I grasp it tight? Do your eyes fall closed against the wave of. ~~~~~ Daddy was still sleeping when I entered his room the next morning, a question burning in my brain as I urgently shook him awake, wanting an answer to something he had written in his letter. "What honey?" he finally growled as his head emerged from under his sheet. "What did you mean about Paris and pearls in your letter last night Daddy?" I asked impatiently. "Oh that," he answered nonchalantly as he sat up, not noticing how little of himself was covered. "Oh that what?" I. More

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