by Stasia Black
Or am I making too much of it and he just gets off on having chicks blindfolded?
“Steady,” he says, holding me up.
More splashes. He’s getting in with me. Just how big is this bath? And when did he take off his clothes? I guess he could have taken them off when the bathwater was running and I might not have heard him.
With slight pressure on my shoulder, he urges me to sit down, keeping me stable while I go down on a knee, then settle into the warm water.
He drops with me, sitting as well. Which is when I realize it must be a specialty bath or jacuzzi because both of us fit easily with room to spare. A second later, jets turn on, confirming my thought. Churning water immediately starts to relax my aching muscles.
Xavier settles himself behind me, legs spread on either side of my body. In the second it takes me to wonder if us being naked in such a confined space is affecting him, I feel his hard length pressing against the small of my back. Yep, he’s affected all right.
He must feel me tense because his hands immediately come to my shoulders. He begins massaging, up to my neck and all down my arms. “Shh, relax,” he murmurs.
Said the spider to the fly.
He slips the blindfold off my eyes in the next moment and I blink, expecting a rush of brightness. But the sun has gone down, so even though there is a large open window and a skylight, the room is dark except for a single flickering candle on the counter near the doorway.
Xavier prefers the dark. Because he doesn’t like people seeing his face, or for some other reason?
Either way, I don’t turn back to look at him. For a while I strain to make out details of the bathroom as my eyes adjust. The bathroom is large, like his room. I can make out a shower in addition to the jacuzzi bath. There’s a high, wide window that’s actually uncurtained and open to the moon and a scattering of what seems like a million stars.
The bubbling jets drown out all other noises but I smell the sweet scent of my body wash in the moments before Xavier lifts my left arm and starts rubbing the soap up and down into my skin. My arm feels small in his large hands as he soaps my forearm and then down to my wrist, then to my hand.
He pays particular attention to each individual finger. Momentarily our fingers lace together as he works the soap and my breath hitches stupidly at the intimacy.
Then his other hand joins the first and he begins the most relaxing and amazing hand massage I’ve ever received. I have to fight against groaning and going limp against him. The struggle is real. Especially when he gives my right hand the same treatment as the first.
Between his gentle, expert ministrations, my full tummy, and the warm, soothing jets, I feel like I might just drift away on a pampered bubble.
I might even actually drowse for a few minutes while he continues washing me. He uses a washcloth to wash my face and neck again, then down to my chest where he cups and washes each breast with particular care.
In the back of my mind, I know I’m supposed to be actively mentally fighting against him. But I’ll get back to that tomorrow. Just… need to close… eyes… for a second…
I wake briefly when I feel him rubbing frothy shampoo into my hair. He massages my scalp as I lean all my weight back against his chest. When he rinses, he holds my neck easily with one broad palm to tip my head backward while he pours water from a cup he fills from the bathtub faucet.
Then his hands move with the washcloth down my body, around my hips to my inner thighs.
He drains and refills the tub to get fresh water after his initial scrub down, keeping me against the heat of his body so I’m warm the whole while. Then he continues where he left off. He grabs the flesh of my inner thigh and kneads it with more strength instead of the gentle massage he did on my upper body.
I can’t stop the groan at how good it feels. I spent the past two days crouched in awkward positions. The first day I stood a lot, not wanting to sit on the dirt. The last day I gave in and sat on the ground. My body, however, is used to nice ergonomic furniture and I could never seem to get comfortable. Not to mention the awkward as hell position I squeezed myself into in the doghouse for what felt like an hour-long rain storm.
Even thinking about that should have me mad as hell again. But when Xavier flips my body around in the bath so he has better access to massage up and down each thigh with both of his strong hands, again I let myself put off other concerns for a later date.
Like tomorrow.
Or the day after.
You know… soonish… after my body recovers from the blissful pile of goo he’s currently turning me into.
He continues working down to my calves and all the way to my toes where he proceeds to give a foot massage that—and I can’t even believe I’m saying this—rivals his hand massage.
My head drops against the curved side of the tub with one of the jets at my back, further working any and all tension out of my body. I watch Xavier through half-lidded eyes. My eyes have fully adjusted to the dim light. His face looks almost fierce with concentration as he lifts my other foot into his lap, soaps it, and starts rubbing his thumb deep into my arches.
At my contented moan, his eyes flash up to mine. One edge of his mouth quirks upward but then his focus goes back to my foot. If he’s self-conscious about his face, he doesn’t show it. Maybe a little that first day when I initially reacted to it, but never since then. He always seems so assured of his mastery over me. Master. Pet. Ugh. I really will get back to being upset about that soon.
He squeezes the pad of my foot between his palms and my eyes drop shut again. I’ve all but drifted back off to sleep again when his hands shift me in the water.
“Hmm?” I ask drowsily.
“Wake up, little kitten.” He sounds amused. I blink and look around. The jets are off and the water laps lazily around us.
“Lean your forearms on the lip of the tub, flank in the air.” He indicates the wide surface at the edge of the tub opposite the faucet where a folded towel has been laid. Then he lifts me so that my elbows are braced on the soft towel. My knees on the bottom of the tub, ass just out of the water. Aimed right toward him.
My mouth drops open as soon as he’s got me positioned just the way he wants. But then I close it.
All right. Here we go again. I really can’t even fault him—okay yes, I can sure as hell fault him for the whole locking me up like a dog thing. But apart from that, from all I hear from my girlfriends, this whole bath time seduction scenario is far more than they usually get in the way of foreplay.
He rubs up and down my ass, or flank as he referred to it. The action feels like it’s one he’s performed a million times. I’m slippery from the water and he splashes more water up with every pass he takes, squeezing both my ass cheeks. He separates and kneads them in his large hands like he has every right to manhandle me so intimately without even knowing me a full week.
All the sleepiness flees under his touch. While before his caresses felt clearly meant to clean away the grime and relax me, now there’s an intent to the way his fingers flex and stretch my flesh.
Still, I’m shocked when his palm lands on my ass. I yelp and swing my head around to look at him. His gaze is locked on my ass, which he’s gone back to rubbing and kneading.
“Count,” he says calmly, his thumbs circling closer toward… toward… that place, “and ask Please, Sir, may I have another?”
A rush of air expels from my lungs, all the relaxation from minutes ago officially gone. My stomach clenching in rebellion. I can’t believe he’s back to this BS. I gave into the food thing, can’t he give it a break for a while?
He smacks my other ass cheek. “Count,” he orders.
He spanks me again.
Then he massages the sting away. His thumbs have abandoned circling around my back passage, thank God, but his fingers now tease at my pussy amid the spanking. He lands another smack.
“One!” I finally shout, enraged. The single word echoes off the bathroom walls.
H
e spanks me yet again. “What else?” he immediately demands, sounding completely calm.
My whole body clenches up. Damn him. Goddamn him.
“You know what I want. Start over and do it like Master requires.”
He smacks my already sore ass mercilessly. My body jerks with the blow and then his hand reaches between my spread legs. He teases my clit while inserting a long finger inside me.
My hands shake where I’m leaning over the edge of the tub.
Because I’m tired.
And angry.
Not because I’m turned on.
And certainly not because I’m thinking about giving into this bastard.
I’ve already given him too much today. I can’t let him have more of me.
But wait, no. I blink and swallow against the liquid fire he’s stoking low in my stomach. I can make all of this stop. Remember—you’re just letting him think you’re going along with this. What are a few little words? Nothing. Not in the long run.
I just have to do what I need to in order to get through today, and then tomorrow, and then this month and this year until I can get back to my real life.
I let out a huge blast of air right as another blow lands square in the middle of my ass cheek.
“One,” I say through gritted teeth. “Please, Sir, may I have another?”
My toes curl in furious disgust at myself even as the words trip over my tongue.
But even though I’m not looking at him, I swear I can feel the surge of masculine energy take over the man behind me. His hand comes down even more stridently and I can’t help the small yip that escapes my throat before managing, “Two,” and then, “Please, Sir, may I have another.”
If I thought he was teasing me before, it’s nothing to what he starts now. Two fingers slip inside, and they stretch and flex like God created them specifically to drive a woman crazy. Not to mention his other hand that he curves over the top of my hip to rub at my clitoris. He pulls away only long enough to deliver another occasional thwack on alternating ass cheeks.
And goddamn him, but it feels… amazing. Sublime.
The forty-five-minute bath beforehand, all that time he spent acclimating my body to his touch, it was like a sneak attack. He’s learned me somehow. He can read my body. It’s not fair.
The spanking continues.
It’s not fair… but oh God, I swear if he stops now, I will kill him, I don’t care how much bigger than me he is.
“Eight! Please, Sir,” I gasp for breath as he starts finger-fucking me even harder, “may I have another?” I lean back against his hands, back and forth, sloshing water all around. I don’t care, oh God, as long as he just. Never. Stops.
He yanks me backward so I can feel his rock-hard length against my ass.
My body clenches hard around the fingers he has inside me.
Yes. Yes. Fuck me.
I ignore how traitorous the thought is as I rub my butt back and forth against him and buck on his fingers.
He lands another solid wallop on my ass before grabbing my hip for leverage and jamming his length up and down along the crack of my ass.
Nine and ten land in such quick succession I barely have time to count them before Xavier is lifting me up and turning me so that I’m sitting on the towel where my elbows were just braced, on the small flat surface between the tub and the wall. My bottom barely fits on the small ledge and I brace my feet in the water.
Xavier immediately pushes my legs open wider and then, holy shit, his head drops down and his mouth locks on my swollen bud. He sucks and licks and teases me until I’m insane with it.
I’m so primed it only takes half a minute before I’m screaming out my orgasm, hands gripping the edge of the tub because if I touch him, he might stop.
Ahhhhhh— oh God, oh God!
The high is so high it feels like the top of my head is going to pop off.
He just keeps sucking me through the whole thing.
It’s— Oh, oh… So long, so bright, oh—
Until my legs quake with aftershocks.
Only then does he lift me by my waist back into the water.
I blink up at him as his huge body looms over me in the dimly lit bathroom, feeling absolutely dazed. I— That was—
I try to sort out what I’m feeling but it’s like I can’t connect one rational thought to another. He’s literally fucked me stupid.
He leans me against the side of the tub but then gets a grip on the back of my hair like he likes to sometimes. He’s on his knees in the tub and fists his nine-inch cock right in front of my face. With the hand on the back of my hair, he brings my face close to it and even in my brain-dead state, I get the picture. He wants me to suck it.
But he only brings me close enough so I get a full view of every inch of him. The hard, veiny length. The fat, bulbous head. The way it strains in his hand toward my lips. He jerks roughly down the shaft, then brings his hand back to the head, where he rolls and squeezes before tugging hard on the length again.
My eyes flicker up to see his face. His jaw is taut with what looks like a mix of pleasure and pain and satisfaction as his gaze moves between my face and what he’s doing with his hand. Each time he jerks himself he brings me a tiny bit closer to the head of his cock, but never quite makes contact. My sex clenches and saliva rushes my mouth. I have the most ludicrous urge to stick my tongue out. To close that tiny distance between us and—
I squeeze my eyes shut against the ridiculous impulse.
“Watch,” comes his quick rebuke.
My eyes snap open.
There he is again. All of him. There. Pleasuring himself right before my eyes.
Then he shifts forward suddenly so that the tip of him makes contact with my cheek. I gasp in surprise at the hot warmth of him. With his hand on the back of my head, he guides the front and then side of his cock all along my cheek and up into my hair. It’s my first feel of him apart from when he was… inside me. The skin of it is so surprisingly soft. Like velvet.
He yanks my head back and slowly drags his cock across my nose and the top of my upper lip.
Like he wants me to get the smell of him. Right now since we’ve just bathed he mostly smells like soap, but there’s just a hint of manly musk underneath.
My sex clenches again as he draws his cock over to my other cheek where he repeats pumping himself like he did on the first cheek, letting me feel all of his soft, smooth length. But so rock hard underneath the smooth.
He pulls back, but now when he jacks himself, every time his hand rolls across the tip, he rubs it against my face. Maybe on my cheek, maybe teasing my upper or lower lip. Maybe just underneath my chin. He never lingers or demands anything of me.
All I can hear is the increasing volume of his heaving breath and the slap of his skin on skin. He never lets up on his controlled grip on the back of my hair. With the way he has hold of me, I can’t look up to see his face anymore.
Only his cock. It’s too easy for the rest of the world to drop away and everything to narrow down to this—the water lapping around us, the steamy darkness, and his cock.
Where will he land it next? Will he finally push inside my mouth instead of just teasing at my lips? What would he taste like? These seem to be the only thoughts I’m capable of at the moment.
And then his forefinger taps at my lip. “Open.”
Finally.
I open my mouth. He jerks himself twice as hard as he has the whole time. But still, he only lets the angry red tip barely make contact with my wet bottom lip.
“Good girl,” he breathes out, sounding winded as he continues jacking off furiously. “Such a good fucking girl.”
And then he ejaculates, white ropes of liquid spurting toward my mouth, down my chin and onto my breasts.
I gasp and my mouth closes as I swallow, getting my first taste of… it.
Salty and bitter but not altogether unpleasant.
“Open,” he says again and I do. He rubs the tip of his cock over my
lips, painting his seed on like lipstick. He squeezes himself and jerks his hand lazily up and down his length, continuing to rub just the tip of his head back and forth over me messily, up over to my cheek then back to my mouth again.
Finally he withdraws, but only to stick his thumb in my mouth.
“Suck,” he commands.
I do, sucking his finger as well as all the… cum. My stomach flips at even thinking the word. I swallow down all the cum he got in my mouth.
“Good girl.” The hand clenching the back of my head softens and he strokes his fingers through my hair instead. “That’s my good girl.”
And the praise makes my chest warm. I’m both horrified and fascinated by the feeling before I go sort of cotton-headed about it all and just enjoy the fuzzy, sleepy feeling.
After another few minutes, he takes the washcloth and cleans me up again. Then he pulls the plug on the tub and helps me step out. With several large fluffy towels, he dries me off like I’m a child.
I just stand there and allow him to do it. The whole blank-headed thing is still in full effect. It’s far easier to just follow where he leads than try to sort any of this confusing shit out.
When he leads me to his bed and pulls me in beside him, then curls his warm body around mine, I don’t so much as blink.
***
It’s only the next morning when I wake up to an empty bed and sunlight pouring in the window that I wonder what in the hell I let myself become last night.
I shoot to a sitting position and pull my knees to my chest, looking around like I’m just waking from a trance. Which is when I realize I’m still naked.
My hands go to my head. I rub my eyes, then my temple.
What the fuck was that last night?
I had a freaking plan. I was just supposed to let him think I was going along with his shit.
Did he drug my food or something? Maybe he sprinkled some kind of compliance-inducing chemical on the eggs? Do those kinds of things exist outside of CIA laboratories?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, trying to gauge if I feel drowsy or out of it in any way. I lift my arms and hop up and down. Which reminds me that I’m naked. I grab a pillow from the bed to cover myself.
