Opening: Song of the Balalaika

**The following is intended for readers 18 and over.**

An artist’s brush applied the powdered hue to her shoulders, neck, and breasts, circling the sensitive skin. The brush flicked over the areolae that took on the color indigo as it transformed her body into a work of art.

Her face remained in the shadows while white light illuminated her body. The silky sable wafted over her abdomen and down her thighs. With her arms behind her, a pillow supported the arch of her back. He set the brush aside as she shyly opened her legs to allow his fingers to shape petals nestled amongst the folds. He was careful not to touch that one spot, the bud of the rose.

While the artist worked, an abundance of memories surged into her mind. Each briefly appeared before melding into the intensity of her arousal. A voice spoke familiar words that seeped like honey into her thoughts. “For the time we are alone together, I will direct what happens. Do you agree?”

“I agree.” The movements of the artist’s hand, distracted by her whispered words, paused for only a moment and then took up the brush again.

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