For his birthday the table was lined with Petit Fours and Macarons in pretty pastel piles. Presents wrapped in soft pink and lavender. Bowls of figs and grapes and cherries. Bouquets of violets and foxglove.
He was never alone, and everyone was kind and gentle with him. They whispered in his ear what a good boy he was and how handsome and strong he was and how very charming and smart. They brought him tasty drinks and marveled at how lovely his party was.
And the walls were decorated in soft purple and gold, his name arraigned among the finery. And everyone was dressed to his liking, peter pan collars, and bare knees, high socks, and Mary Janes.
And on the two long couches, two rows of girls knelt with their butts out, pussies presented like little cakes for him to taste. They all smiled shyly, whispering to each other, waiting patiently to be eaten up by the birthday boy.