feet out shoulder
width, and lift your ass
toward me.”
The quivering was back in ful force,
but she managed to
obey. She was partial y under the
spray, but she stil felt the
pressure of his fingers, sliding over
her shoulder blades,
gathering up her hair and twisting it
so it fel over her right
shoulder. Then he smoothed his palm
down the curve of her
back. As he did, he picked up the
long-handled scrubbing
brush she kept in the shower for
cleaning it once a week.
“Eyes forward, Rachel.”
She obeyed, imagining al sorts of
things, not so sure
now, but then—
Thwack!
She yelped as the flat of that brush hit
her with precision
at the most generous portion of her
right buttock. It stung,
but it didn’t overwhelm her with
pain. Instead, something
rocketed through her, head to toes,
making the latter dig
into the wet tile.
“That’s a reminder,” he said, his
voice enhanced by the
water’s rush. “Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Y-yes.” Why couldn’t
she say anything to
him without stammering?
“Be stil now. Feel.”
From the change in water flow, she
knew he’d directed
the spigot away from them. In the
blurry reflection on the
glossy tile, she knew he was
lathering his hands, setting the
soap aside. Then he put his hands on
her waist, lingering
there. The gesture made her feel
feminine, an hourglass
cinched in the middle by those long,
elegant fingers and
large palms. As he moved
downward, the soap made his
passage slippery, heated. He braced
one of those palms
on her left buttock as the other slid
between her spread
legs.
She jumped, she couldn’t help it.
Cursing herself, she
went rigid, trying to hold the posture,
fighting the panic that
leaped into her throat at such an
unwelcome reaction. “I-I’m
sorry.”
“Rachel.” He continued his
movements, his knuckles
brushing the delicate crease between
labia and thigh, and
then his palm sealed itself over her
pussy, his fingers
settling with possessive skil on either
side of her clit,
applying the lightest of pressure.
A convulsion—no other word for it
—vibrated from the
soles of her feet, al the way to her
stiffly held neck. “Oh…”
The word was a strangled syl able,
echoing in the enclosed
space. “Oh God…”
It wasn’t a climax of course, but
something as intense. A
need that held her prisoner in its grip.
“Rachel.” He repeated himself,
patient, but there was a
thickness to his voice that told her he
wasn’t unaffected by
her reaction.
“Y-yes.” Thank heavens he’d known
her for a while, or he
real y would think she had a stutter.
“Don’t apologize for anything again,
unless I demand an
apology from you. The fact a man has
not touched and
pleasured you in such a long time that
it’s strange to you,”
his palm moved, an easy movement
that sent his soapy
fingers gliding over the petals of her
sex, and then an
intimate dip inside, rubbing,
cleaning, “is nothing to
apologize for. That’s for damn sure.”
The last four words were spoken
with visceral male
satisfaction. It helped, because she
couldn’t stop making
those gasps and whimpers as he
stroked and probed,
cleaning her. It felt…maybe, like she
was slippery, but that
could be the soap. When he removed
his touch from that
area, he kept his palm curved over
her mound as an anchor
point as he used the other hand to
clean between her
buttocks. It kept fountains of glittering
sensation shooting up
into her body.
She’d thought a lot about anal play,
had explored herself
there and been startled by how
erogenous a zone the rim
area was, but to have it actual y
massaged by a male hand,
her bottom stil smarting from the
strike with the brush, was
stunningly different. With his other
hand stil stimulating her
pussy, it was automatic to moan and
lift her ass even higher
to his touch, taking herself to her
toes, hands clutching the
safety
width, and lift your ass
toward me.”
The quivering was back in ful force,
but she managed to
obey. She was partial y under the
spray, but she stil felt the
pressure of his fingers, sliding over
her shoulder blades,
gathering up her hair and twisting it
so it fel over her right
shoulder. Then he smoothed his palm
down the curve of her
back. As he did, he picked up the
long-handled scrubbing
brush she kept in the shower for
cleaning it once a week.
“Eyes forward, Rachel.”
She obeyed, imagining al sorts of
things, not so sure
now, but then—
Thwack!
She yelped as the flat of that brush hit
her with precision
at the most generous portion of her
right buttock. It stung,
but it didn’t overwhelm her with
pain. Instead, something
rocketed through her, head to toes,
making the latter dig
into the wet tile.
“That’s a reminder,” he said, his
voice enhanced by the
water’s rush. “Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Y-yes.” Why couldn’t
she say anything to
him without stammering?
“Be stil now. Feel.”
From the change in water flow, she
knew he’d directed
the spigot away from them. In the
blurry reflection on the
glossy tile, she knew he was
lathering his hands, setting the
soap aside. Then he put his hands on
her waist, lingering
there. The gesture made her feel
feminine, an hourglass
cinched in the middle by those long,
elegant fingers and
large palms. As he moved
downward, the soap made his
passage slippery, heated. He braced
one of those palms
on her left buttock as the other slid
between her spread
legs.
She jumped, she couldn’t help it.
Cursing herself, she
went rigid, trying to hold the posture,
fighting the panic that
leaped into her throat at such an
unwelcome reaction. “I-I’m
sorry.”
“Rachel.” He continued his
movements, his knuckles
brushing the delicate crease between
labia and thigh, and
then his palm sealed itself over her
pussy, his fingers
settling with possessive skil on either
side of her clit,
applying the lightest of pressure.
A convulsion—no other word for it
—vibrated from the
soles of her feet, al the way to her
stiffly held neck. “Oh…”
The word was a strangled syl able,
echoing in the enclosed
space. “Oh God…”
It wasn’t a climax of course, but
something as intense. A
need that held her prisoner in its grip.
“Rachel.” He repeated himself,
patient, but there was a
thickness to his voice that told her he
wasn’t unaffected by
her reaction.
“Y-yes.” Thank heavens he’d known
her for a while, or he
real y would think she had a stutter.
“Don’t apologize for anything again,
unless I demand an
apology from you. The fact a man has
not touched and
pleasured you in such a long time that
it’s strange to you,”
his palm moved, an easy movement
that sent his soapy
fingers gliding over the petals of her
sex, and then an
intimate dip inside, rubbing,
cleaning, “is nothing to
apologize for. That’s for damn sure.”
The last four words were spoken
with visceral male
satisfaction. It helped, because she
couldn’t stop making
those gasps and whimpers as he
stroked and probed,
cleaning her. It felt…maybe, like she
was slippery, but that
could be the soap. When he removed
his touch from that
area, he kept his palm curved over
her mound as an anchor
point as he used the other hand to
clean between her
buttocks. It kept fountains of glittering
sensation shooting up
into her body.
She’d thought a lot about anal play,
had explored herself
there and been startled by how
erogenous a zone the rim
area was, but to have it actual y
massaged by a male hand,
her bottom stil smarting from the
strike with the brush, was
stunningly different. With his other
hand stil stimulating her
pussy, it was automatic to moan and
lift her ass even higher
to his touch, taking herself to her
toes, hands clutching the
safety
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