The Empress lay back on her padded couch, arms hanging down the sides, legs open, n***d save for a thin, silk shift draped across her midriff. Around her, handmaids attended to her body, one delicately painting her eyelids with thick, black liner, another smoothing lotions over her legs, cooing, “Mistress, you have the body of a young girl.”
Zoe knew it was not so. Her morning ritual of studying her face, arms and legs revealed the relentless march of age. The creases under her eyes grew deeper, the muscles in her thighs and arms more slack, but refrained from chiding the girl. She enjoyed the attention, the girl"s fingers sending delicious waves of pleasure through her flesh.
Soft hands smoothed cream into her cheeks, circular motions relaxing muscles, easing stress. And Zoe had stress,
