She rolls over from where she has been laying half on his body, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She stretches out, her hands pushing against the wall over her head.
"I need a shower. Guess I better head back to the dorm."
Shower. He remembers the time he saw her in the shower, back arched, singing softly. She still does not know that he saw her - it is one of his hoarded secrets. He has also seen her climbing from the pool, drops of water clinging to her skin. He does not wish her to leave. Perhaps....it would be very forward, possibly even inappropriate. Still...
"Would it not be more convenient for you to shower here, before dressing again?"
She is quiet a moment while he almost holds his breath. "On one condition."
She will not want him to watch her. He will abide by her wishes, he will still be able to hear her, his hearing is excellent. "Please state your condition."
"You must come and shower with me." With that she jumps up off the bed, grabbing his arm and dragging him along behind her towards the bathroom.
He stumbles along behind her in confusion. Shower with her? Two bodies in that small enclosure will be...umm, they will be touching, with the water sliding between them. Perhaps this is more interesting than it first appears.
She pulls him into the shower stall and closes the door, waves her hand under the shower head to start the water. Almost immediately her hand darts to the controls and resets the temperature somewhat cooler than his usual setting. "Is that okay? It's not too cold for you?"
"No, this is fine."
She raises her hands to his face and tilts his head down. Her hands run through his hair, ruffling it up, getting it thoroughly wet. What is she doing?
"Where's your shampoo?"
He reaches behind him, finds the bottle, flips open the top and squeezes a small amount into her waiting hand. She rubs it into his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp. She tilts his head further down so that she can reach the top of his head. When she is satisfied with the amount of suds she has created, she begins to rinse his hair, tilting his head back into the stream of water.
No one has washed his hair for him since he was a small boy. And that was certainly not the same as this. The feel of her fingers against his scalp is tantalizing.
She removes her hands from his head and turns away from him. He is confused. She reaches behind her and fans her hair out to catch the water. Is he to wash her hair now? Fingers trembling slightly, he helps her to wet her hair. When it is thoroughly wet, streaming in a mass down her back, he reaches for the shampoo bottle again. He squeezes a small amount into his hand and begins to massage her scalp. She tilts her head back into his hands and sighs. He works his way down the mass of her hair, adding more shampoo when the suds fail to stretch any further. Eventually he has the whole mass of it covered in creamy suds. He begins to rinse them out, watching them fall in clumps down her back, onto her bottom. The clumps of suds slide down her skin slowly, some following the cleft between her buttocks. He struggles hard to suppress his reaction, wanting to trail his fingers there with the suds.
When he has finished rinsing her hair, he stands there unsure what to do next. She turns towards him again, a soft smile on her face. He has pleased her. His lips quirk up in return. Pleasing her is very gratifying.
She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him around again, so that his back is to her. "Don't you have any shower gel?"
He hands her the small bar of soap that he keeps in the shower.
"Well, I guess this will do, but gel is better. I'll get a bottle to bring over here."
She will bring a whole bottle of shower gel and leave it here? She intends to do this many times? Warmth suffuses his body. This is definitely a good thing.
Her hands roam over his back, rubbing soap into his skin. They curve around his buttocks, and slide down his legs. She lifts first one and then the other foot, soaping the sole and between his toes. The soap and water make him slippery and her hands glide almost without friction. It is harder and harder not to become aroused. Her hands glide over him again, rinsing off the soap.
Now she turns him about, hands him the soap, and turns her back, lifting her hair up and over her shoulder so that her whole back is bare before him. Her back is so lovely. Firm muscles and soft skin, delicate and yet strong. Hesitantly at first, and then with more assurance, he runs his soapy hands over her body, copying the actions she has performed on him. He is enchanted with the feel of her under his hands with the water running over them both.
When he has finished with her feet, he stands behind her, not entirely certain what she will do next. She turns about, brushing against him in the small enclosure. She takes the soap back from his hand and rubs it between hers, making suds. He watches her hands, mesmerized. She lifts her hands and begins to clean his face, making little circular motions over his skin. She washes his ears, her fingers stroking the delicate edges and sensitive tips. He cannot help it, he moans at her. She smiles at him, the tip of her pink tongue between her teeth.
Now her hands caress his neck. He stretches his head back to bare his neck to her, reveling in the feel of her hands against him. She washes his arms, moving from the shoulders down to his fingers, carefully washing each finger and the palm with the tips of two of her fingers. This gives him little bursts of bliss and desire flowing from her into him, igniting him. He gasps as she caresses his palm again. She bubbles with soft laughter, enjoying the reaction she is getting from him.
Her hands move to his chest, and, although this is very nice, his hands feel abandoned. She ruffles the soft dark hair that grows on his chest, rubbing soap into it and then rinsing it out again. She finds the two small nipples hiding there and squeezes them between her fingers. He gasps again. Her hands move down his abdomen, gliding over the muscles of his stomach. When her hands have almost reached that part of him that is now craving her touch, she bends over and begins to wash his ankles. Almost he cries out - that is not where he wants her hands!
She washes his legs, upwards from the ankles. There is now only one part of his body that has not received her ministrations. She pushes against the inside of one thigh. When he does not respond, she pushes again, a little harder.
"Spread out." Her voice seems a bit strained. He cannot imagine why.
He does as she asks him, shifting one foot to the side so that his thighs do not touch. Her hands slide between his legs, covered in soap suds and cup his scrotum, one testicle in each hand. She rolls him around in her hands, covering his scrotum completely in suds. He gasps and jerks, but does not move from the position she has put him in. Now she is gliding her hands up his hard hot erection, soaping his entire length. This is agony!
Her hands pass over him again, rinsing all the soap off. She lifts her head and looks him in the eye. There is such a strange expression on her face, a smile, but not a smile, and her eyes are all dilated, the muscles of her face soft. Her breathing is not its normal even rhythm. She hands him the soap.
His mouth and throat are dry. He holds the soap like it is the most wondrous thing in the world. So slowly, he rubs the soap, making suds. He collects the suds with one hand and lifts it to her face. She tilts her chin up and closes her eyes. Gently and carefully he washes her face, then rinses the soap off. He strokes her neck, her shoulders. Following the routine she has established, he washes her arms, her hands. She sighs.
With hands he must force not to tremble, he rubs the soap upon her breasts, cupping them gently, feeling the soft weight of them against his palms. He rolls the rosy brown nipples between his thumb and forefinger, the way he remembers she likes. She moans and sways. His hands return to wash away the soap.
He moves down her body, soaping her ribs, her belly. Washing away the suds. Then he bends and starts at her ankles, as she did to him. At last he has finished every part of her body except the very center of her. Holding his breath, he lightly touches the inside of her thighs. With a long sigh, she shifts and spreads her legs apart, granting him access.
Even if he were not standing under the pelting water, he would be damp all over now. He is throbbing.
With careful fingers, he rubs the soap upon her, then rinses it off. He reaches for the small shelf behind him and places the soap there. She is swaying before him, eyes closed. Even with the water pouring over her, he can smell her. She is his, she has said so. He can restrain himself no longer. His arms encircle her, his hands find her bottom and lift her up against him. Her legs lift and go about him, pulling him close to her. Her arms go over his shoulders, her hands locking on the back of his neck. She lifts her face to him and kisses him, her tongue caressing his. He takes one step and presses her back against the wall of the shower stall and thrusts himself into her, unable to wait any longer. Her legs tighten, pulling him in. She turns her face and bites his ear. He roars at her, shouting her name, thrusting hard into her. Her muscles squeeze against him, enflaming him even further. She begins to rock against him, giving him the rhythm he has not been able to find. Together they plunge into ecstasy.
He leans his forehead against hers, breathing hard, holding her still against the wall, wrapped around him. "I think I need a shower to recover from my shower."
She bubbles over with laughter, clutching him to her in delight.