The House

8. are you dirty?

“Are you dirty?” she asks, not without innuendo, walking to the tub and leaning over to set the drain and faucet to allow two people. Her bathrobe falls open and you can see the curve of one small high breast, although the n****e is hidden.

“Sometimes,” you say back, trying to play along. She smiles at this, and picks up another handful of the bath salts to sprinkle in the water beside you. Then she stands and unbelts her robe. She lets it fall to the ground at her ankles by the clothing you’ve already shed, and gestures you forward in the tub. You move to accommodate her, and she sinks in, sighing as the heat hits her just like you did prior. You can’t see her behind you but you hear her pick something up and soon you feel a sponge wielded by expert hands against your back.

The sponge is real, one of those kinds only rich people can afford, and she scrubs at you, applying enough pressure to make your skin sing, lifting your hair out of the way to wash your neck. You feel her hands at your shoulders, your ribcage, your flank, and the top of your a*s, small circles as she massages you clean. And when she is done with all of the skin she can reach she leans forward to whisper in your ear.

“Turn around.”

You do so. It’s a mark of how large this tub is that you can both comfortably face one another in it. Your legs are spread on either side of her and you would feel awkward if she weren’t just as n***d as you. She smiles and picks up your right hand and starts scrubbing at it, front and back. You can’t help but notice that the water hits her at her n****e line and that her pubic hair is the same color as her hair only darker because it’s wet.

She makes her way up one arm and then the other and then begins at your neck. You lift your chin up for her so that she can reach all of you and the circles slow down, becoming more precise as her hand washes down your chest. You’re embarrassed at how quickly you start to breathe but you don’t want to tell her to stop. The sponge scrapes gently at your breasts, leaving soft washes of red in its wake as she makes larger circles, cleaning more of your skin, careful not to touch your n*****s which, oddly, makes them want to be touched more.

When she stops with a smile and then begins again at your feet, it’s hard not to tell her to go back to where she was. You think you could order her to do so, and consider doing such, but as she washes and kneads her way up your calves, you discover you would rather find out what she has in mind.

She slows as she reaches your knees, washing one than the other, and then begins on your thighs, leading up in long strokes. Your lips part open, you think you know what is coming, but you both do and do not want to be sure. The not knowing is what makes it delicious you realize, as she rubs the rough sponge up your inner thigh. You lean back and she strokes up again, this time on the other, and there’s no way not to gasp, hoping that she’ll do more. Hearing this, she pauses and looks up at you. Her cheeks are as flushed as yours, and both of her n*****s are hard and you realize that you’re not the only one in this tub turned on.

“I have to clean all of you,” she says in a breath.

“Yes, you do,” you manage to say.

You’re not entirely sure what to do, as you’ve never f****d a stranger in a strange tub before. But you know what feels good, and you lean forward. Her body slides up against yours, frictionless in the water, and you can feel her smooth skin pressed to yours in a thousand different places, as you kiss her on her full, soft, lips.

She kisses you back. Her lips are softer than a man’s, more generous and sweet, and her tongue hesitates then kisses you ravenously. One of your hands holds you up, the other finds her neck, her breast, her skin. Her hand is at your a*s, pulling you forward, your legs tangled together beneath the waterline. You set your knee down between her thighs and she gasps as she rubs her p***y on it.

She lets out a moan and rubs again, her pert breasts parting the waves. You lap at her n*****s, drinking in as much water as air, and then they disappear, pulled down so she can grind herself harder into you. The water makes you float so that you have to fight to stay against her, and then her hand find the folds of your p***y and rubs against them, the slickness of your own body joining the slickness of the waves she makes, helping to anchor you down. You take the hand that isn’t holding you up and plunge it down to meet her between her thighs, and touch her like she’s touching you. She gasps and grinds again and you test pushing a finger inside of her. This makes her shudder – until she does the same to you, and then you’re both caught on one another, twin mermaids being pulled out of the sea, rocking back and forth, pushing in, and then pulling out to rub against one another’s clits. Her fingers pulse in time with the waves and you return the pleasure as you kiss her, her mouth, her neck, her breasts, and the pressure inside you mounts with each motion she makes, trapping you as you trap her, unable to think clearly anymore, skin against skin against skin against skin.

Her hand trembles inside of you, and you know from the expression on her face that she’s almost there, that you’ve almost made her come in the palm of your own hand. You’ve kept your fingers deep inside of her but as she nears there’s more space still and you push harder to find the depths of it, calling it out from her, watching her mouth part as her own hand rides deeper into you. You feel like you’re drowning even though you’re not. Looking down at her you see her lips parted with need, and her hips start to thrash at your hand, as her other hand pulls you close so that she can go deeper, pulsing frantically into you until you’re both bucking, waves of water spilling out over the tub’s edge until you both cry out half a second behind the other, not sure who came first, as waves of a different sort ripple through the water as your pleasure makes you thrash. Your moans and her moans fade and then there’s only the sound of the water, slapping lightly against the tub’s side, like an a*s being slapped.

She smiles up at you, wide and earnest and it’s impossible for you not to smile back. Then she stands before you in all of her n***d glory, and steps out of the tub, grabbing a towel not for modesty’s sake, but merely to dry off.

“See you soon, I hope,” she says, and you feel she means it. You’re unsure what to say back, but you rest your hands on the edge of the tub and watch her go. The only thing you’re sure of now is that you want to know what the rest of the House has in store for you.

Do you go back out to the hallway? If so, touch here.

Do you go to the back of the bathroom and listen at the door she disappeared behind? If so, touch here.