“The candle,” she says, “the wax.”
I flash back to my past, to Elizabeth. “You want me to drip the wax down your body?” I ask guardedly.
She nods as her eyes go dim and sultry.
Lifting a candle from the bedside table, I see the pool of hot wax forming at the top. It jiggles as I move, though it doesn’t spill. I’m mesmerized by the act I’m required to perform; it almost seems a privilege to be giving her this desired gift. Suspecting that this will arouse her in a most distinctive way, I do it lovingly. Letting the molten wax collect in the little cup around the wick, I tip the candle and let it spill down, first on her left breast, and then her right.
She cringes when it splashes onto her skin. There’s even a little cry from her, but she’s reaching some ecstasy, the way her head moves
