My hand wanders as I read, tracing where you direct. My nipple hardens as two fingers circle them. One finger moving across the now pointy tip. Gooseb...mps form on my white skin as you trace the dark circle. Round and round, that single finger strays across every few revolutions. The image in my head of your eyes locked on mine as we explore each other’s minds. You take me places I had not imagined before. I trace down your chest, around your nipples and down to your belly. Circling your. Emily never aged - at least not in the traditional sense of that word. Sometimes she had been older - for a few decades she's been a caring mother and grandmother. Sometimes, she'd been younger - reliving crucial parts of her childhood and teenage years, most often in warped versions of her original memories.All of those lifetimes of knowledge - all of that slow learning and adapting - had been for this one final moment. The time before she returned to the "real world".It had been explained. He didn’t boast about it or make fun of her. The pain in his voice had had nothing to do with his broken body. He knew he had hurt her by admitting the truth.Why had he done that? She thought about that for a while. He hadn’t had to admit that. He had risked, at least as far as he was concerned, being thrown out of her house. That was ridiculous. It wasn’t her house. It was their house. They were family. They were all that were left of the Bradfords.Her mind jarred to a stop. That was true! All. I patted her back and let my hand stroke her rounded buttocks. The newly-inflicted welts on her shoulder were red and raw."Anyone else in the house?" I asked.She shook her head."Servants?" Outside," she said. "Slaves, two of them and a groom, in the quarters." Come," I said and I took her hand and led her down the hall to the man's room where a candle glowed. The missing lamp came to my mind and sent the girl to fetch it while I pushed the man into a chair and sat on his high bed, pondering..