by Tara Jones
“Well, the guards would never have let you pass otherwise,” she said nonchalantly and then she looked up at me and tilted her head at one side, inspecting me. “And besides, you pushed me out the way from that car. You probably save my life in fact.”
“Ah, well...”
She reached up and placed a soft kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you for that, by the way,” she whispered.
“It was nothing,” I said casually, like I save human life more or less on a daily basis. “But don’t try to change the subject. Who are you? Who were those guys in the car that tried to kill you?”
Now when I had started, I didn’t seem to be able to stop the questions from pouring out of my mouth.
She smiled at me.
“It... it’s complicated, all right?”
“Then explain it to me,” I said.
“Later, perhaps.” She stood up and stretched, looking oddly similar to the two cats around her ankles. “But right now, I need a shower.”
“But...”
I had a feeling that she was trying to change the subject as she walked away from me.
“...And I think you should join me,” Eleanor added over her shoulder.
There was no denying it, she was trying to steer away from the topic and distract me!
And of course it was bloody working too, I added somewhat darkly.
“But I can ask her all the questions in the world tomorrow,” I told Hannibal, who ignored me pointedly.
I followed the trail of a tweed jacket, a pair of high heel shoes, and a blouse thrown casually on the floor until I reached what must be the bathroom door where I found the rest of her clothes including a white bra and matching knickers. I could hear running water from the other side of the door.
I opened the door to the bathroom, although to be perfectly honest I’m not sure it could still be called a “bathroom”. Somehow the description just didn’t quite cover it.
At my flat I most certainly had a bathroom: it contained a toilet, a washing basin with a crack in it, and a bathtub in desperate need of getting upgraded, something I had planned to do the last couple of years, but always put off. The water from the pipes at my flat was often lukewarm and never as hot as you would like it to be. My water bill had been suspiciously high lately and I had a feeling that if I let plumbers into my flat they would demand to do more than just install a new bath tub.
This room however looked like something the Romans would have approved of and it was quite clear that the interior decorator hadn’t been working under a limited budget.
The walls were completely tiled in white marble and the floor was decorated in a checked and complicated mosaic pattern. The room didn’t have one, but two oval Jacuzzi bath tubs next to each other and that were built in and lowered into the floor. They faced a massively large window with the stunning view over Tower Bridge and which most likely had added an extra “zero” to the price of the apartment.
The bathroom was easily as large as my sitting room and also contained a cabinet in chocolate-coloured hard wood with a pile of fresh towels and a luxury half-crescent shaped shower cabin with frosted glass. The water was on in the shower and apparently both the temperature and the water pressure were significantly better than at my place, because the room was already quite foggy.
“Eleanor,” I called out hesitantly. She had told me to join me, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.
“Get undressed,” she answered without any further explanation. “Oh, and the windows are mirrored, so no one can see in,” she added to my relief.
I obeyed and hastily started to undress, before I stopped myself. I didn’t want to appear desperate, so I took off my clothes slowly while I wondered about what she had in mind this time.
The two other times we had met it had been slightly rushed in a manner, since–ah, well we had been at the local library! This time however we were completely alone and had all the time in the world.
The mosaic floor was rather cool in comparison to the humid air, but not as cold as I would have expected.
I walked over to the shower cabin. The inside of the glass was foggy and I could only barely make out the silhouette of her curvy, naked body. Slowly I opened the frosted sliding doors.
“You took your time,” Eleanor said and smiled at me while she looked me up and down in a way that could only be described as “hungrily”.
It immediately had an effect on me and I felt myself grow harder, more ready. My mind instantly told me that I wanted nothing else than wrap my arms around her sensual body and I wished she would allow me to press her up against the frosted glass and enter her there and then, without any further delay. The fact that she was slowly letting the designed shower head glide over her body, from her shoulders and between her rounded breasts, didn’t make really helped to reduce my desire for her either.
But of course I had already learnt that we did what she wanted, and in a way it was tantalizingly rewarding to wait until she told me what to do.
Then suddenly I felt mischievous. I remembered last time we had met when she had ordered me to kneel in front of her and please her and just to see how she would react I sank to my knees in front of her.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, looking up at her.
I wasn’t entirely joking, I realized.
There was something quite appealing and to my surprise I didn’t really feel meekly or silly. I really did want to please her however she liked. There was also a certain strange relief to hand over the decision part to her, but there was also an odd, mixed sensation of that I felt that I was manly enough to let her control me which I couldn’t explain fully.
My actions had however the most intriguing effect on her. A shadow of astonishment crossed her face before she smiled a broadly. Her eyes glitter and I could almost feel her pleasure radiating from her.
“Why, Peter...” she said in a slightly sultry voice. “If I hadn’t known better I would have thought that you had been trained, after all.”
Trained? She had mentioned it last time, but I still wasn’t sure off what she meant. The word sent a shiver down my spine of excitement, although I’m not sure why.
“I haven’t been trained,” I confessed and slowly I let my hands follow her ankle and along her calf. The water trickled along her curvy legs. “But I’ll do my best,” I added and placed a soft kiss just above her knee.
I remembered last time when she had let me please her and I had to spread my legs a little bit further. I was already getting uncomfortable hard. Teasingly I placed another kiss on the inside of her thigh and started to work my way upwards, wondered if she would let me please her like last time or if she had other plans.
“Do you want me to continue?” I asked her permission and let my fingertips lightly follow her legs, her hips, and bottom. I heard her breathing increase and I knew she was getting more and more excited.
“I think you are getting ahead of yourself,” she said and placed one hand under my chin and tilted my head upwards, in a not entirely gentle motion. “After all, you are not the one in control, now are you?”
I met her ice-blue gaze.
“No,” I said and added in a whisper, “I’m not.”
But I couldn’t help to groan quietly in disappointment when she removed my hands from her body.
“Get the soap,” she ordered with a curved smile and an arched eyebrow.
The shower cabin was large enough for two people and I had no problem localizing the porcelain accessories set that containing a loofah, a large peach-coloured soap bar and two bottles of what I assumed were some sort of expensive shampoo and conditioner.
“Where do you want me to start?” I asked quietly.
She laughed in delight at my question.
“You know, I think you’ve a quite a natural instinct for submission.”
I didn’t really know what to think about that.
“Thank you,” I said at last and was rewarded by another smile
.
“I think you should start by washing me,” she said and then she added in different voice that was much more demanding and harder, “You can start with my feet, since you’re already at your knees.”
Her tone slightly reminded me of my old French teacher, who had ruled our class with an iron fist without ever needing to raise her voice. No one had dared to fail her tests and to this day I can still conjugate French verbs flawlessly.
I didn’t answer, but instead I lathered the soap bar between my hands. She adjusted the shower head so that most of the water was directed away from us and which would prevent the soap lather from instantly being washed away, but so that there were still enough water that ran in a trickle over her body. A steady small stream of water fell from her wet red long down her chest. Her hair that was darker now when it was wet, but still rebelliously curly. The water drops fell from her hair down to her full breasts and then over her soft belly and down along her curvy legs.
In the dimmed light she was more beautiful than ever.
Slowly I put the soap back and I let my lathered hand surround her small ankle and started to wash one of her feet. She had quite small feet and as before I was amazed over how petite she was, despite her feminine curves. Every bone seemed to be had been reduce in size to a smaller version of perfection. In fact, she looked like those old paintings of ladies from a time when a more sensual body was considered attractive, since it was a sign of wealth and status.
She is like a renaissance painting of Venus, I thought as I lathered her other foot. And with her perfect porcelain white skin and her slightly posh attitude she would have fitted right in at any Victorian court, I concluded as I let the water rinse away some of the soap.
My thoughts of renaissance art and the Victorian era gradually abandoned me as I slowly worked my way upward, massaging first her calves and then her rounded thighs. The feeling of her soft skin under my fingers and the closeness to her body made me more and more turned on, but I forced myself to continue to wash her body in an unhurried and devoted manner. With a tight grip over my self-controlled I let my lathered hands massage her hips and soft bottom. To my satisfaction I heard her inhale sharply as I slowly let my fingers glide over her soap-covered pale body towards her most sensitive spot that hid behind dark red, curly pubic hair.
But as she hadn’t given me the permission to proceed, so I didn’t continue, although I couldn’t help myself by letting my fingers touch her lightly dangerously high on the inside of her thighs, only brushing her teasingly in between her legs, as almost by accident. Her breathing was becoming unsteady and I saw her small hand tense and she gripped the built-in marble shower rack hard.
She turned around from me so that I could continue washing her back. My fingers glided along her waist and her hips, cupping her rounded bottom, while I let the lather from the fragrant soap cover her. She arched her back slightly as I let my hand glide along her spine and slowly follow it downwards until I reached the cleft between her buttocks.
Her desire spread over to me and I was gradually becoming more and more excited, but she didn’t give me any new orders, so I continued with washing her as slowly as I could, enjoying watching her increasingly excitement.
If I had had it my way we would already have been reduced to a sweaty and wet mess on the bathroom floor long ago, but strangely enough I did enjoy this kind of slow lust-filled torment.
When I had thoroughly washed her legs and bottom I stood up on my knees to be able to reach more of her body. She was so short that she only reached to my shoulder when we stood next to each other, so when I stood on my knees I reached just under her chin.
I continued to cover her body with the soap all over her body, from her neck and her shoulder blades and down her waist. Experimentally I kissed her lower back as I let my soap-covered hands slowly glide from her hips upwards and in front of her until they reached the lower parts of her breasts.
She moaned quietly and moved her body closer to mine as my fingertips lightly circled the nipples. I felt myself grow harder in response. I wanted nothing else than to stand up, spreading her legs and take her roughly from behind. The visual image in my mind almost made me reach down and touch myself, but instead I tried to get rid of the rather distracting though by concentrating on her again.
She had spread her legs a little bit apart, clearly signalling that she was ready, but not telling me to proceed, so I cupped one hand under one of her full breast and massaged the nipple between my fingers, playing with it lazily.
“You are so beautiful,” I mumbled. I stood up slowly and experimentally I moved my body a little bit closer to her, so that my chest touched her backside and I embraced her from behind. She reacted by pressing her body closer to mine. The water and the lather from the soap increased the sensation of the sudden skin contact and although I tried to control myself I was unable to stop myself from pressing my erection against her soft bottom to let her feel excitedly how excited I was.
“Are you getting turned on?” she asked softly, although she most definitely already knew the answer to that question.
“Yes,” I admitted and while I continued to massage one of her perfectly rounded breast with one hand I let the other hand glide downward until I touched the soft hair between her legs. “Very much,” I added in a thick voice that betrayed just how turn of I was.
“And do you want me?” she continued, somewhat breathlessly. I felt her press herself a little bit further against me. It felt like all blood in my body surged downwards and the light, teasing touch when my erection glided against her body covered in water and soap was almost delirious with excitement.
“Yes,” I whispered huskily.
I pushed my hips forward, so that there could be no doubt about how turned on she had made me and I heard her sigh with pleasure as my hardness glided back and forth against her body, but without really entering her.
“Please,” I groaned in desperation, pressing myself firmer against her. I nuzzled the hair at her neck, placing a trail of kisses from her ear to her collarbone. Teasingly I let my fingertips brush against the wet hair in between her legs and when she didn’t protest, I continued and started to slowly stroke her gently.
“No, not yet,” she answered although I felt her move against me and my fingers. Her voice was pleasantly unsteady.
“But I’m so turned on,” I mumbled in her hair.
My index finger experimentally glided in between her lips and I found her most sensitive spot, brushing against her clitoris and I heard her gasp in reply. She was just as excited as I was, I realized, because she was wet under my touch, which wasn’t only a result of the trickling water from the shower. I let my fingers make small circles, touching her teasingly, before I started slowly and rhythmically to stroke her.
“Good boy,” she mumbled and turned her head and reached up to kiss me, burying her hands in my hair to drag me down. Her comment made even harder. There was something in the way she said it in combination with that she was the one in control that just frankly did it for me.
“Please,” I begged, not teasing her anymore. I pressed myself desperately against her and I knew that I would probably come against her backside if she denied me. My erection rubbed against her soft skin. “Please...” I repeated.
For a second ice-blue her eyes met mine in a crystal-clear moment of full awareness. Time seemed to slow down and I let her see all my raw desire for her, but also the honest pure need that I wanted her permission.
An emotion I couldn’t really decipher crossed her face and her pupils dilated, suddenly looking large, dark and nearly predatory.
“Take me,” she ordered.
I growled in reply, a mixture of desperation and relief that she didn’t deny me anymore.
And finally I did what I had wanted to do ever since I stepped into the shower. With water drizzling down on us I embraced her in one quick movement and lifted her from the floor. I pressed her back against the frosted glass and with one hand under a
round hips I grabbed my erection and steered myself in between her legs.
She locked her legs around my waist and she kissed me possessively and moved against me eagerly, pushing against me with movements of her own.
I almost cried out when I finally entered her. With a half-strangled groan I started to thrust against her, burying myself deep in one almost harsh movement. I had to stop myself from not coming, but she wouldn’t let me decide and instead, while I still tried to regain some sort of control, she pushed herself further, finding her own rhythm, while she kissed me again, deeper this time. Our tongues met and she took one of my hands and placed it over her full breast, while her grip around my neck hardened.
“Slower,” she hissed, although I could see in her eyes that she really wanted me to do something entirely different.
And it suddenly occurred to me what she was doing. She was as turned on as I wanted and I felt her squeeze around me, wet and ready, but clearly she enjoyed ordering me to take it slow against my will more than letting herself come. The fact that she enjoyed power over pleasure and although she was half of my size and still managed to control me was deeply exciting.
I licked my lips, trying to control myself.
“I’ll try,” I said between clenched jaws and started to move against her with at a slower pace, gliding in and out of her, almost all the way, but without leaving her. I paused, before I deliberately slowly entered her again, all the way, inch by inch. I repeated it over and over until it felt like I was making love in slow motion. It was incredibly sensual, but also rather maddening. I wasn’t sure how long I would last, but I decided to do my best.
“Now go deeper,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming in the light. I noticed how her body started to stiffened the way I had come to realized that she often did just before she came. Obediently I did what she told me, while I fought for self-control. I wouldn’t let myself come until she would tell me, I vowed and tried not to focus too much on how good it felt to press myself deeper and a little bit harder against her, or the sensation of my hands gliding over her wet and soap-covered curvy body.
