The House

6. that’s all right

“That’s all right.” You’re not ashamed, but you don’t need help bathing.

She smiles as though this were expected, although her shoulders slump in disappointment. “Okay. If you’d like though, you can always call me back.” She leaves through a door that matches the marble tile in the back of the room.

How odd. Do extraordinarily rich people need help bathing? Or do they just swim around in swimming-pool-sized-tubs? The warm water feels like a second skin. You stroke your hands up your thighs, across your stomach, and cup your own breasts, rubbing your thumb over your n*****s. You’re all alone in here. Why not have a little fun?

You reach through your legs and pull the gold cord of the drain. It slides open and the water begins draining. You watch it, feeling it lap lower and lower on your body, and start to quiver in anticipation. When there are only a few inches left, you reach up, and turn the faucet on.

The expensive faucet sends the water out in a sheer wall. It isn’t hard to position your hips beneath this so that it falls onto your stomach, and then pull back slowly, letting the heat and pressure ride down your body until it presses against your most intimate place like a tongue, and you start to pulse your hips beneath it. The water pressure is constant but as you move it breaks in different places, so that it never hits the same way twice, it finds new pathways down you, as insistent as a drum. You bite back a moan, and then think twice and let it go, listening to your pleasure echo in the tub’s confines. You’re tempted to reach your fingers down, to press them deep inside, but the water feels too good running on your c**t – so instead you turn the faucet up, until the water’s pounding you where fingers ought to be. You moan again, rocking your hips, looking at the angle of your legs inside the tub’s stone and it’s like you’re one of the bathing statues down below, being f****d by an ancient and relentless deity, one that you know won’t stop. The rest of the water sluices in the tub around you, grasping you like hot hands as you lift your hips up to meet the stream of water higher still, feeling it push into you and then roll up underneath your hood to tease at your c**t – you take it for as long as you can stand, trembling on your toes as it roils down, pounding into your p***y, stroking along your folds, and sliding again and again over your c**t like a lover’s slick thumb.

The pleasure you were waiting for hits you like a wall. You cry out and your hips shake and your p***y clenches like it’s trying to drink the water in.

You let out a long moan and fall back into the tub’s basin, shuddering as the faucet keeps pouring out water over your suddenly ticklish thighs.

When you open your eyes again you see the ceiling over the tub, as white as that woman’s porcelain skin.

Do you call for her? If so, touch here.

Or do you get dressed and go back outside? If so, touch here.