Samantha Nocs at the Door

Part 3 – Samantha Enters a New Life

He was on the phone, in the living room as I finished my work. His eyes followed me each time I walked by. I like being watched, though I tried to look demure glancing over at him. I made sure my last trip was to put clean towels away in his bathroom.

His eyes never wavered as I came across the room. I knelt quietly by his knee. He was saying something that sounded like work. If it was one of the associates from the firm, I felt sorry for them come Monday. He did not like work calls at all during the weekend; it had best be a damn important emergency!

He rolled his eyes, listening to the other person and then leaned forward, putting his hand over the receiver. "Go fill the tub," he whispered. "I'll be done here soon – oh, and make it as hot as you can stand." I nodded and he nodded back. I rose and went to his bathroom.

It would take a while to fill his tub. Whether he knew it or not, Ana and I both had a habit of sneaking baths in his tub. It was huge – sized for two people, and beautifully made from cedar. I'd never seen a wooden bath tub before. The first time I mentioned it he laughed saying the plumber had his doubts about it too when building the house. But, as I should have known, he'd done his research and the type of cedar use was very common for building tubs in Japan.

Surrounding the tub were floor to ceiling windows and across the top of the tub was another window. If it wasn't for the frosted glass and the seclusion afforded by the garden, I would've been very self-conscious taking a bath in here. It did, however, let the bathroom fill with wonderful amounts of sunlight.

I was sitting on the tub edge, absent-mindedly swirling the water with my hand when I heard him and looked up. From his expression, I could tell he was annoyed over the phone call. He shrugged and grinned in an oh well manner. I smiled back and after turning the faucet off went to him.

Something in his expression held me from speaking. Silently, I helped him undress. Last night I didn't really get to see his body. With each piece of clothing that came off, I studied and memorized how he looked. I'd never undressed a man before, or at least not in such an unhurried way. I fumbled, trying to make it as sensual as possible and not doing a very good job of it. His face reassured me though that with enough practice, I would be undressing him with out a thought.

I was on my knees holding his pants as he stepped from them - his cock at eye level! I found it very difficult not open my mouth and suck him right in. There was an overwhelming desire inside me to touch him and lick him and show him that I could give him the same kind of pleasure that he'd given me last night.

It didn't work that way. After stepping out of his jeans, he helped me stand. Then he took his pants from my hand and laid them on the counter, retrieving a hair clip from behind the sink. I swept up my hair and turned around for him. He clipped it in place and led me over to the shower. I drew a blank – why fill the tub if we were going to shower? It didn't make sense to me. He saw the question in my face and with a slight knowing smile and his gently raised hand hushed my unspoken question. I was offered one of the stools that sat below the shower.

He positioned the other stool behind me and turned on the hand wand. At first the water was a little too hot and I tensed sharply as it hit my back. He adjusted the temperature until I sighed and nodded that he'd found the just right point.

Then it all became pure magic - the water, his hands, the wash cloth, even the soap. Before I woke he was planning this, from the fragrance, I knew he went to the other bathroom and gotten my soap. I began to feel like a small child being lovingly washed by her parent. With the cloth in his hand, he tenderly, but thoroughly scrubbed down my neck and back. I felt cared for, secure and protected - no part of me was forgotten. My arms were raised as he washed the underside and my armpits, then down my side. His touch was so wonderful. I couldn't stop my reaction when he slipped the cloth between my buttocks. I slide back on the stool making sure he could reach deeply in between and under me.

His stool scraped the tile as he pulled himself closer. I saw his knees appear on either side of my legs. First on the back of my neck and then on my ear I felt his warm breath. "Put your hands on your head for me please." I did and heard him adjust his position and the hand shower came around from behind. Instinctively I closed my eyes and mouth expecting the water to hit my face. I heard him softly say, "No need to turn blue on me."

He was carefully directing the hand shower to cascade water down my chest and away from my face. I let my breath out with relief. He gently lifted one breast and wetted me under it. I sighed at his tender touch. Again, with the other, he gently lifted and sprayed the water under and just as gently set my breast back.

I moaned when he played the stream of water down between my breasts, down my belly and between my legs. I began to feel he was carefully measuring the amount of eroticism and sensuality, not wanting too much too soon. I stole a glance at the filled steaming tub and thought; we still had some soaking to do, and I have yet to wash him. The care and thoroughness he was taking etched itself in my mind so when it was my turn I could wash him with as much care and luxurious pleasure. I was beginning to grasp the idea was not to rush things, but let time slowly work for you.

I relaxed in his hands and leaned back against his chest with a deep sigh.

I wasn't told to sit up. He continued to wash and rinse me, scooting up closer the further he washed down my front. There was no overt eroticism in his touch, but that meant little to my body. The care and tenderness that he worked with, the firm, but gentle feel of his hand behind the wash cloth, the warmth of his chest and the texture of the wash cloth took care of exciting me all by themselves. My legs spread for him as he reached below my belly button.

He pushed me up right saying, "Turn around love, so I may do your feet and legs."

I obediently spun around. He scooted his stool back and caught one leg, leading it up and over to rest on his thigh. He'd definitely done all this before. I thought about his late wife, Lynn, and how they probably bathed together. Amused, I grinned, watching him make sure to clean between every toe, before scrubbing the bottom of my foot and work his way up my leg. The same was done for my other leg and as he rinsed the soap from it I sighed deeply. I was done with; no more would his hands be roaming all over my body.

Then again . . . I was now my turn to roam his body. Without a word, I took the wash cloth from him and picked the hand wand up from his lap. He turned his back to me and we began the whole thing again.

Being the washer rather than the washed reminded me that I was here to serve him. Just like when I did the housecleaning, the laundry or cooked dinner, I served his pleasure; only for those things I got paid. This – this, I was doing because I wanted to. This I was doing because I got as much pleasure from doing it as he did from receiving it. His washing me was a gift to me for what I gave him; it was also, I would find one of his ways of instructing me in how to please him.

The way I was thinking about it all was startling to me. Sure, in my job as his housekeeper, I was happy and took great care in what I did, making sure it was just the way he wanted it. Last night – last night, it was sex – no, it was lovemaking. Okay, he was using my body for his pleasure, but he gave me more pleasure than any man before him. He took my body last night; I didn't stop him, or say don't do it this way. I let him have me as he wanted to.

Being the washer, slowly, I was beginning to understand that I enjoyed serving him. I wanted to serve him. I needed to serve him. I knew now he would never again bring up the subject of owning me. That would simply happen, slowly and progressively.

Last night, I knocked at his door, looking for the intimacy of love that I wanted and he wanted and kept seeing in his eyes. This morning, he opened the door widely to a whole new meaning of that intimacy. Right now, I realized I had entered completely and his vision would become mine.

I spoke this morning of belonging to him and he spoke of owning. No, the conversation wouldn't come up again. I was bringing it to a close – closing it by saying yes with my every act to please him; yes, I am yours to own.

Instead of asking him to turn around, I slipped from my stool and moved in front of him. The entire time I spent washing his chest, legs and groin, I was on my knees on the hard tile. I never looked him directly in the eye. This is the way it's supposed to be I knew in my heart - the way I wanted it to be.

As I washed his belly, he reached out and slipped his hand around the back of my head, pulling it slightly closer as he leaned and kissed the top of my head. My heart lept, I had pleased him! I closed my eyes and murmured softly, "Thank you sir."

Taking him in my hands, wrapped in the wash cloth, I found myself getting very aroused. With my head bowed, I found it easy to hide my smirk as I took a little – okay, a lot – of extra care in washing his cock and balls. I slipped the wash cloth from his sac, down beneath him. He caught his breath sharply and his thighs tightened. I looked up to see his face filled with pleasure.

"Yes dear, I enjoy being touched there also," he spoke with quiet contentment. I smiled shyly and dropped my eyes back to my work. Not being one to leave well enough alone, I caressed him with the wash cloth down there for a minute more before moving on to his thigh.

Getting to his foot, I took diligent care to wash between every toe.

Eventually there was no more of him to wash, I sighed with disappointment.

He reached over and turned the shower off, saying, "Now that we have cleaned our bodies, 'tis time for the spirit." With that he stood and extended his hand to help me up. We went to the tub and he held my hand as I stepped in. The water was still very warm, warmer than I was used to. He went to the other end and slid into the tub with a gratified sigh. His legs slipped under mine, I bent my knees to accommodate them and his head rolled back to lay on the edge of the tub. We soaked without a word between us. I'd come to the conclusion that my questions would be answered in time; to speak and ask them now would only ruin the peace of the moment.

Soon, I drifted to no place at all really. I'd never been to a place like that before. My mind felt so empty, clear, serene. I don't remember ever feeling this relaxed and tranquil. It was wonderfully unique.

I felt his foot rub against my thigh and opened my eyes. "Are you ready for the last step in our bathing ritual?"

I giggled and nodded. It did sort of feel like a ritual, but I hadn't thought of it that way until he used the word. It would be a ritual I would look forward to. Though, I was a little puzzled – what else could there be – I mean, we've washed each other's bodies. We've soaked our spirits into peaceful oblivion. What was left to do?

He stepped from the tub, grabbed one of the fresh clean towels I'd put on the rack earlier and motioned for me to stand. Emerging from the water, I was wrapped in the towel and dried. I wanted to do the same for him, but after wrapping the towel around me and tucking the top together, I found he was drying himself rather handedly. I harrumphed and he looked at me. "Go lie on the bed, on your belly and wait for me, please," he told me sweetly. "Without the towel, please" he added. I got over my disappointment and wandered out to the bedroom.

I could hear him moving around the bedroom, but I stayed as I was told face down on the bed. He walked by and stopped lean to whisper in my ear that it would be better if I was across the bed, not with it. I dutifully turned as he went about whatever he was doing.

Soon the room filled with the delightful aroma of almonds, I deeply inhaled the wonderful scent, not knowing where it was coming from. That was quickly answered as I realized he was standing at my head and felt his warm, slick hands begin to rub my neck and shoulders.

Oh – so this was the last step, I smiled into the comforter. The fragrance of warm, roasted almonds began permeating the room and my nostrils. His hands worked deftly, there was no tension left in my body, between the shower and bath any nervousness I had long disappeared. Like in the tub, my mind began to drift into empty contentment. The further down my back he went, the more I gave my mind and body over to him. In my current state, he could have softly suggested anything to me and I would obey without a second's thought.

He stopped and walked around to the other side of the bed. Taking me by the waist, he pulled me toward him just a little. Then starting with the small of my back, he rubbed, massaged and oiled my butt. I let out a soft moan when he poured a small amount of warm oil down the crack of my ass – knowing his hand would soon follow into the crevasses between my legs - instinctively my legs spread wider, opening myself for him. I was not disappointed. His fingers followed the stream of oil between my cheeks and down to my asshole. I moaned and cooed with the touch of his fingertips. Slipping further under me, he kneaded my mound sending shivers of delight through me. As his hand pulled back, his middle finger parted my swollen pussy, mingling the oil with my own wet excitement.

Then his fingers were gone, leaving me hanging, aroused and wound up on a plateau just below orgasmic bliss. He wrapped his hands around my thigh and spread a thin coat of oil in their wake as they slipped effortlessly down my leg. Of course, my other leg was not forgotten.

"Roll over please, dear."

I did and my eyes followed him as he poured more oil into his hand and came around to my head again. He was hanging the merest of inches from my face and again I had to fight back the urge to crane my neck and take him into my mouth. He appeared to have no thought of what his nudity was doing to me, but went about his business, gently rubbing oil into my neck, shoulders and the tops of my breasts.

His fingers curled around the mass of my breasts and I caught my breath short, they had become extremely sensitive with all of the excitement building inside me. Using individual fingertips and alternating between his fore and middle fingers he caressed the oil over them coming closer in tightening circles toward my nipples. The tips of his fingers brushed by the edges of my areolas and I jumped from the shock of sensation that shot through me. I looked up at his face; it smiled with delight back at me.

With a greater purpose, his fingers began to glide over my breasts - down under them, where they came to my chest, around the sides, following their curve and form, across the tops and around between them. I began to breathe through my mouth, telling myself to breath. Little noises of pleasure and delight came from me. He teased my areolas and nipples – just the lightest touch I could possibly imagine – and it was more than I could bear to stand. My hands flattened and pushed against the bed. My hips began to writhe and then roll back and forth.

"Ohhhhh . . . oooh," I heard myself moaning. "Aughhhh . . ." I gasped as he quickly and sharply pinched both nipples between his fingernails. I couldn't tell whether it was pain or pleasure I felt shoot the length of my body. I bucked, but the chain reaction had started. He took his fingernails from my nipples, but continued to hold them tightly between his fingers, rolling, squeezing and pulling on them.

"Aaaauuuggghhh . . ." My body went taunt, arching from the bed as the swell of ecstasy broke over me. Panting, I slumped back on the bed.

"You enjoyed that dear," I heard him softly ask.

DUH! – like it wasn't obvious – no, I didn't say that out loud. With a deep breath, I did say, "That's the first time I've ever cum from having my breasts played with."

I looked up to see him smiling softly down. "It's because you are very receptive to pleasure. Do you now understand why we took so long to come this far."

I nodded with a deep sigh. He nodded back and moved on to massage and oil my belly. The feelings of excitement and arousal never left me while he finished. That feeling of clear emptiness returned as he moved down my belly and legs.

I felt his weight jostle the bed and looked over to see him lying next to me belly down. I didn't need any instruction – now was his turn. I found the bottle of massage oil on the bedside table. It was an interesting little pottery setup with a candle to warm it. I coated my hands well and crawled across the bed on my knees. As had happen in the shower, I found myself thinking how wonderful it is to do for him, to serve him. How right it felt to me.

I began to hum softly as I massaged his back.

I was surprised, though I don't know why, when I began to massage his ass and quickly realized he enjoyed it as much as I did. He rolled his hips a bit just off the bed and his legs opened a little. Reaching back and taking my hand, he guided my fingers down to a spot between his asshole and his sack. "Right there," he said his voiced muffle by the comforter. He began to lead my fingers in small swirls, and then left me on my own. I could feel the area tense and relax under my fingers. I slipped my other hand under him and round his shaft. Oh my, I thought as I could feel him growing in my hand while I rubbed his 'spot'. "Remember that," I heard his muffled voice instruct me.

"Oh – I will – I will remember," I assured him. As with washing him, I took great care with his body, enjoying every touch and caress. Besides that spot, I learned also he very much enjoyed having his armpits and the fronts of his shoulders massaged deeply. Quite some time ago, I'd learned about his hands. As well as back problems, he had minor arthritis in them and was constantly asking Ana or me to massage them. This afternoon I did so with great relish.

It came to an end, all too soon, and I sat back on my heels looking down at him. His face was serene and content. Slowly his eyes half-opened, I was kneeling between his spread legs. "Your eyes have been begging for it all afternoon," he said quietly.

"Yes sir," I shyly acknowledged.

"Please then . . ."

I nodded slightly and slipped over the edge of the bed. He scooched himself across the bed, closer to me. Hesitantly, I took him in both hands and softly stroked him. He was so warm and began to grow in my fingers. While continuing to stroke him, I leaned closer and began to kiss him on the insides of his thighs. He sighed and moaned lowly as my lips moved closer, lightly kissing and brushing his sensitive skin. I slipped one hand around his balls and gently kneaded them, rolling them around in their sack. He smelled of a man's musk, my body bar from the shower and the almond massage oil I'd liberally rubbed over him.

While I held him gently and carefully from the end of his cock, I kissed its base moving my lips around him. My hand slipped from his balls to caress his spot and asshole. This got far more response from him than I expected. He swelled and stiffened quickly – to my delight. The hand I was holding him with slid down his length while my lips encircled the head of his cock. He stiffened and murmured softly his pleasure. Slowly I took more of him in my mouth, playing him with my tongue. His hips rolled upward giving me more of him and then began to rock slowly and steadily while I stroked and sucked.

He reached down and began to stroke my hair. The rhythm of his hips quickened a little and I tried to swallow more of him. My caresses had relaxed him enough that, more by accident, my finger entered his asshole. He shuddered and moaned. I froze for a moment hoping I hadn't done something wrong. Then I thought I heard a very faint, "Yes dear, that's wonderful." I was only in him to my first knuckle, but I began small strokes and twisted my finger a little. I felt him get larger in my mouth and realized I come on something that was like a magic 'go' button for him.