And as her nervousness lessened, her Littleness retreated until only Big Rosie was left. Andshewanted Eloise, she wanted her Daddy.

“Kiss me,” she said, still facing away and somehowsomehowEloise managed to flip her on the sofa until she was on her back and Eloise was there, above her, that intense look back in her eyes again.

“You are such a beautiful girl.”

“Yes Daddy?”

“Yes. I want to strip you naked and revel in your gorgeousness, to explore every inch of your skin.” She ran her hand down Rosie’s side and the touch brought her to life. “I want to—” Eloise broke off suddenly.

“What, Daddy? What do you want?”

“I want to paint you.”

Rosie was a little confused. “But I need you to touch me Daddy, to kiss me, how can you do that if you’re painting a picture of me?”

“Oh no, sweet girl,” Eloise’s mouth was right by Rosie’s ear now, and each word was charged against her skin. “I want to paintyou. I want you to be my canvas, and for me to follow each delicious curvature with my brush, and then my tongue. To dust you with glitter and make you a masterpiece to marvel at.”

Rosie had always been pretty confident in her body; had loved the swell of her belly and the roundness of her hips and thighs long before anyone else had come to appreciate them. But to be turned into art like this? That was a level of appreciation for her body that she wasn’t even sure that she’d sent her own way.

Blinking slowly, she nodded, smiling. “That sounds…yes, fuck yes Daddy.” And she leaned up to pull Eloise down to meet her lips, running her fingers through short hair and losing herself in the kiss. And they kissed. And kissed.

They kissed as they stumbled upwards, shedding Rosie’s clothes with any lingering inhibitions she might have had. They kissed as Eloise led her into the bedroom, knocking intodoorways and furniture, Eloise always twisting so she saved Rosie from the brunt of it. And they even kissed as Eloise pulled open a drawer, and rummaged through it, eyes closed, for a sheet to throw atop the bed.

Then she walked Rosie backwards and gently, ever so gently, pushed her until she was lying before her.

It felt decadent to display herself like this, to lie naked and brazen on the bed for her Daddy, lights on, the dresser mirror capturing her softness.

“You are absolutely beautiful.” From anyone else, the words might have sounded like hyperbole, but from Eloise they were sincere. She meant them. And Rosie felt more beautiful than she ever had before.

“I want to see you Daddy, please.”

At her plea, Eloise reached down and pulled her tank top up and over her head. Her breasts bounced softly, perfect handfuls, made to be sucked into Rosie’s mouth. She forgot her manners and sat up, greedy, hands reaching out until Eloise was sat astride her.

“Fuck…I need…please…” Her words felt as disjointed as her thoughts, as if her brain had overloaded with the discarding of Eloise’s top.

“Yes baby girl? What is it that you need?”

Leaning up on her elbows, Rosie kissed Eloise’s nipple with the tip of her tongue, and then sucked it into her mouth, rolling it until she found the perfect spot.

“Oh darling,” breathed Eloise. “Good girl.”

When she finally pulled her nipple from Rosie’s mouth, with the most adorable pop, she felt the loss almost as keenly as when Eloise got off the bed to go and get art supplies.

Edible paint, a pastel rainbow of tiny pots, and then glitter to accompany it. And proper paintbrushes that made Rosie squirm.

It was just the brush at first, as naked as her skin. Long, slow strokes that danced across her body, round a nipple, tracing a stretchmark, until she felt like she was floating. Whispers of touch tantalised her senses and when Eloise finally applied paint to the brush, Rosie thought that she might shatter into a million pieces.

It felt unlike anything she’d experienced before. Cool to the touch, wetness that dried almost immediately; nothing oily or sticky, that would have thrown her out of the moment into a meltdown. And Eloise went slowly.

Each stroke was purposeful, intentional.

Before long, she had Rosie whimpering in need, gasping each time pinks or violets or aquas were added to the colour palette that was her body.

“You look incredible,” breathed Eloise, kneeling beside her on the bed, paintbrush in hand. She placed a delicate one down, and picked another one up. It was broad, with rougher bristles, and Rosie’s eyes widened. “Don’t worry, baby girl, I got you.”

The first touch of that brush felt different, almost raspy against the inside of her thigh. She shuddered, and Eloise tutted. “Now now, baby girl, canvases don’t move.” So she tried to stay still, tried so hard not to move even when it danced at the edge of her pussy. And then there was a tiny brush, small and damp, painting slick strokes across her clit.

“I…” For a moment, she panicked, and then remembered. “Yellow, Daddy.”