Backstage of Cleopatra's milk bath

Cleopatra steps to the bath. Her servant lowers the gold silk from her shoulders. Warm milk laps at my skin. The girl’s hands move in slow circles over my breasts, soap sliding across my nipples until they ache. She works lower. Her fingers trace my belly, part my thighs. When the cloth slips away she does not ask. She sinks between my legs, tongue flat, dragging a long, wet stroke across my cunt. Milk drips from her chin. I open wider. Every slow lap pulls a sigh from my chest. She keeps at it, lips soft, mouth hot, tasting deeper as my hips tilt toward her. The world narrows to the sound of small ripples, her eager tongue, and the way my breath hitches each time she finds that tight, wanting spot inside me.