The day had been long and exhausting. I arrived home, wanting nothing more than a long soak in the tub. After feeding the dogs and letting them out, I walked into my bathroom, and there he stood. The man I had been thinking about -- no, dreaming about it. He was standing naked in my bathroom, tub filled with steaming, scented water, candles burning, and sexy music playing softly in the background. Without a word, he reached out and began to slowly undress me. He helped me into the tub, and climbed in with me.
We sat for awhile, drinking wine; he was cradling me against him, between his legs. I could feel his already powerful erection pressing against my back. I leaned into him and closed my eyes, sighing contently. After a while, he picked up the rose scented soap and began to lather my breasts. It felt heavenly, his hands slippery with soap, teasing my nipples until they stood up and cried out to be sucked, licked, and bitten.
He tested the heaviness of each breast, lifting and caressing. He kept teasing my nipples until I did not think I could stand it any longer. Then suddenly his hands were gone. They had slide down my sides, along my hips, where he caught hold of me and turned me to face him. Lie back and relax, he said. I did as he told me, and again he picked up the scented soap and gathered handfuls of lather. But he did not move back to my breasts, he moved further down, to my sweet, aching pussy. He was washing me with gentle, loving movements.
Why does he want me so clean, I wondered -- then I caught my breath -- could it be, dare I dream that he might be thinking, might be planning....but no, I could not hope it. Soon enough, my thoughts were retuned to what his hands were doing. His movements became more urgent, moving harder, rubbing, then teasing my pussy lips open, with just the right amount of pressure, easing into my softness, causing me to cry out in pleasure. One finger, two, three, in and out, steady, not faster, not slower, harder, softer -- but always just right. I cried out again and again and he made me cum -- no longer sure where I was, but it did not matter. All that mattered was his hand on my pussy, and waves of pleasure he sent crashing through me. I fell back, exhausted, very pleased, and mildly embarrassed. I could never get used to so thoroughly letting go of myself while being pleasured.