Treading

She placed the wine glass into the sink, directly beneath the spigot of the fountain, summoning the liquid serpent hiding in the pipes:

Water, dancing over her hands, the glass, slithering into the drain below.

From the instant the first cold splash made contact with her flesh, she freed a sigh in her chest - it signaled her impending surrender. She adjusted her body to release its rigid form, relaxing, adopting a more flexible, malleable character. She envisioned her frame submerged, surrounded by water, and ever so sweetingly slowly, she felt herself submitting.

The crystal flow pushed on her hands - she gave in. On her skin - she gave in. On the muscles and bones beneath it - to this as well, she gave in. The watery master demanded, regardless of the obstacle it encountered. Instinctively, she reached deeper to find more treasure to offer, shoveling as much as she could of her worth to hastily cooperate with the insistent element. She rubbed her fingers over the curved, slippery surface of the flute, letting the satiny medium guide her, mold her, shape her. Her fingertips found the traces of her lipstick on the rim left from her libation, but resisted the urge to remove them. Removal was not her role, instead she was to be removed - taken, erased.

Her mind led her back to the few preparation procedures he had shared with her earlier in the evening. Before dinner commenced, she was to wash herself, thoroughly. Every crevice. Every slit. Every fold. Standing beneath the steady rain of the shower, the eradication of her cosmetic appearance began. As instructed she didn't grab any of her moisturizing, perfumed soaps to work into a foamy lather, but strictly stayed to the omnipresent nectar that flowed over every inch of her tingling body. She held the firm understanding that he wanted her natural, native perfume when she emerged from the bathroom, purified by the aquatic arbiter.

He came into the kitchen and placed his thick, meaty palm on the back of her frail hand, pulling her mind away from the hypnotic potion gushing into the sink. He whispered into her ear - rather just beneath her ear - with the tremulations of his voice teasing the sensitive receptors on her neck. She abided his instruction, resting the glass at the bottom of the sink, and retreated towards the stairs. Stopping just a few steps into her ascent, she felt an overwhelming urge to remove her silk negligee, dropping it without reflection to the step that held her weight. Climbing the stairs once again, a delayed thought materialized into her mind that mapped itself to her recently completed action.

"I won't need that for awhile."

She held no expression, no emotion on her face, just diligently continued on the path prepared for her. In fact, should someone have peered at her, they would not find her on the surface. She was safely, prodigiously buried. Completely tucked in.