© bridgette duplantis

The Pamperer’s Lair, Calif.–7:17 p.m., Pamper-Her-Friday:
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“A woman hasn’t lived until she has experienced a luxurious milkbath.” -The Pamperer
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Babygirl, I’ve been in the marketing side of business long enough to master its trickery, its gimmicks. Its illusions.

Marketing–successful marketing–at its core is a play on the emotions, part fantasy, part theatre, part sleight-of-hand.

Many a suspicious woman has considered the storied milk bath just that: Marketing at its finest.

But it’s usually those who haven’t been fortunate to engage its wonders. Especially at the hands of a ‘pamperer’ with whom she’s in love.

I say we dispel any notion of a ‘milk-bath myth’ right here, right now. I suggest you follow my directives:

Tie up your hair . . . bun, hive, Japanese twist–doesn’t matter. Just sweep it from your neck.

Let me help you with the shoes–no, wait. Let’s make those the final destination.

The capri pants are cute, but they’re begging for a rest. Let me help you. Have a seat . . . raise up (hips elevated slightly, capris released).

This wasn’t part of my research but bear with me–forefoot kiss, ankle kiss, shin kiss, calf massage, hind-knees massaged while kneecaps kiss-pampered . . . thighs become jealous at the lower-leg attention. No need for envy. Let’s welcome those, too.

(Her head sinks into the recliner’s headrest, her noggin partially overhanging the chair’s upper lip. Her eyes become peaceful, their lids fall helplessly to the ambiance of the methodical disrobing.)

The brazier’s been holding its end of the bargain all day long and is craving a respite. How dare it work overtime. It escapes.

And the thong.

By gosh, the laggard, the late arrival which, truth be told, never wanted to come to the party to begin with. It feels used and manipulated–as if all it’s wanted for is adornment. No other purpose.

Well, let’s honor its wishes and toss it awry. Who needs you anyway?

Where’re we going, you ask? A soothing shower lather rinse first to wash away the week’s debris, both mental and physical. As the last of the water circles the drain, the milk bath awaits.

Let’s pat you dry . . . well, let’s not bother with formalities. Come, the bath is eager.

Easy. No need for a splash. The warm milk is just as tender as you, Love. Here, lay your head on the puffy towel.

How’s that? You like? Oh, you love? Good.

Now, how about a glass of bubbly? I’ll join you. That good? Great. Glad you like.

Now relax and tell me how your day transpired. By all means, take your time, sweetheart. We’ve got the night.

All night.

The entire weekend in fact.

What’s that? You’ve been thinking about me all week, you say?

Hmm, what a coincidence.

Thank God it’s Pamper-Her-Friday . . . .

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Pamper the Goddess . . . . -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®