Driftwood Deeds(14)

“Hurts... but...”

“But?”

“But it’s... It’s good.”

I frowned. Of course it made little sense but there it was. I loved the ache that radiated through my body and centered there, loved the way I could intensify it by leaning back against his crotch.

“Do you want to take a quick shower?” He paused but when he saw my lack of comprehension, he continued. “It can help make you feel less overheated.”

It was only when he said it that I realized how soaked my blouse was. I looked down at myself, then lifted an arm and felt the stickiness underneath it. I grinned sheepishly.

“That sounds really good actually. Thank you.”

I don’t know what I expected but he just smiled, turned me around and started to unbutton my shirt. He brushed it off my shoulder and while I got rid of my bra, he pulled my skirt down to the floor. I hissed when it passed the swell of my ass. He went on to reach for the showerhead, adjusted water pressure and temperature and then helped me step over the rim into the bathtub. I felt like one of those infinitely precious collector’s dolls. My body went soft and pliable and letting it go, giving it to him to care for, made it feel like I wasn’t standing at all, like he was washing away all earthly concerns, anything that weighed us down. He touched my nose before he started to wash me with a pleasantly prickly natural sponge.

“Raise your arms,” he said, louder now to reach my ears over the sound of the water. “Higher, yes, you can cross them behind your head. Beautiful. Thank you.”

While he washed under my breasts and my armpits, I could feel myself shaking with desire again. His simple instructions, casually uttered, seemed to set each nerve ending aflame, hyper-reactive to every touch, be it ever so remote from the erogenous centers of my body. He seemed to avoid them almost purposefully, washing me from head to feet, conspicuously leaving out my bottom and my crotch. I was in a state where I was both acutely longing for his touch there, but at the same time felt so engrossed in the moment that I had to consciously remind myself of the missing areas until he smiled down at me and bid me turn around.

“Bend over and spread your legs. Rest your hands on the rim. There you go... such a sticky, dirty girl.”

Shivering, a sense of vertigo overcame me again as he blew against my wet folds. Instead of bringing the sponge there, however, he placed the showerhead just at the top of my arse so that most of the water was funneled through the crack to splash down against my cunt. I started to moan immediately, my head leaning against the wall. Just when I thought this couldn’t feel any better, I felt something pushing against the puckered hole. I jumped a little but then calmed as he started to rub it clean, hard and eager, his two fingers making sure every tiny puckered fold was rubbed this way and that and opened up to the water flow. The sensations had me gasping even before he pushed his fingers inside me. My arse was tight, so tight around them, but he didn’t play around. It didn’t feel like he was doing it to give me pleasure, just that the pleasure was a necessary side effect. He was simply washing out a hole, watery slurping sounds smacked loudly in the small room. Then he hooked both fingers into my flesh and pulled the muscle apart. I felt water and air trickle inside, then his fingers followed, fucking me fast.

I think I lost control over my noises again, and before I could even properly enjoy it, he withdrew and turned his attention to my cunt. He was far less intrusive there. He used the sponge again, prickly and harsh as he rubbed it over my sticky thighs and folds.

“You got so nice and wet...” he told me after a while. “But I want to fuck you later and I want to feel it.”

As he said this, he pressed the showerhead against my entrance and immediately warm water gushed inside of me. I yelled out loud, bumping my head against the wall, but before the pressure became too much, he pulled the stream away and watched it all flow back out of me, down the side of my leg and splashing onto the ceramic bathtub floor. I cringed. It was hot and wet and felt almost like I was peeing right there in front of him.

He repeated the procedure several more times, pushing a finger inside of me from time to time as though to test how slippery I remained and when I could feel every callous and every wrinkle around his knuckles, he turned off the water.

I stood back up straight and immediately regretted it when an overwhelming sense of dizziness took hold of my head. For a second I thought I might faint but then I found myself pressed against his chest and he lifted me out of the tub and sat me down on the toilet.

I don’t remember when he’d taken off his shirt—I assumed while I was bent over facing away from him, but when I leaned forward, my face came to lie against his naked stomach. I rested there, breathing him in with each lungful of air. My arse felt sore against the toilet seat, my asshole stretched and my cunt raw and dry and clean for him, and when he patted my hair, I couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment or a place where I’d have felt more safe and taken care of.