There are few things more sensual and relaxing for me than a glorious soak in a bath tub. Usually I choose to bathe not because I'm feeling dirty, that's what showers are for, but because it feels like the most luxurious treat imaginable.
So having more time than expected, I gave myself a spa treatment. It takes far less money to create an extra soothing and intensely pleasurable bath than most people realize; for me it's generally less than a dollar. With the curtains closed throughout the house, lights off everywhere, the bathroom door open, a perfect soft light was able to settle itself quietly around my tub, just enough for comfort but that was in no way intrusive. Forgoing "mood music," I prefer the muffled sounds of the outside world, the hum of traffic just barely penetrating the walls, only enough to remind me that the busy, frantic, stressful world is "out there" while I'm inside escaping to a private and pleasurable retreat far, far away, in essentially another world.
Somehow turning on the tap for what I know will be a selfishly-sensual bath is one of the more pleasing sounds I know. That is when I add a few squirts of body oil and a half-cup or more of baking soda: total cost perhaps fifty to seventy-five cents. I watched for the first few moments as the water filled the bottom, dissolving the baking soda and combining it with the oil, and began to climb the sides of the tub. Only then did I step into the bedroom to slowly, yet steadily, undress. Part of me always wants to jump out of my clothes and into my naked self instantly, so I somewhat teased myself by slowing down. I adore being nude; don't you? The feeling of being attired only in gentle air flowing around me, in light and shadow, in freedom from convention, constriction, and everything – that is pure pleasure! I put my long hair up into a high pony tail partly to keep it out of the water but mostly to increase my feeling of total nakedness.
When the tub is half full that's when I most like to ease into the almost-too-hot water for then I can both nestle into what's there and enjoy the churning, rising, enveloping sensation. Each time I do so there is a tiny part of me that fears, yet eagerly anticipates, that the water will completely submerge me as I lose myself completely in the experience. Obviously, that doesn't happen; instead I inevitably find a compromise between the highest level the tub can allow and that in which I can easily relax and breathe comfortably. The water off, near silence returns, and I find just that position in which I can let me muscles soften, letting my skin enjoy the nurturing saline water akin to the ocean's level, and my mind can trail off wherever it desires. After I've turned on my stomach for a while then back again, for added comfort I sometimes place a tri-folded washcloth over my eyes to help me mentally shut out the world, to exist only within the water-blurred boundary of my skin and in my gradually decelerating yet still meandering mind, changing thoughts naturally as with the tidal flow or waves themselves. Soon, every aspect of my being has a soft glowing smile of joy. How much time passed like this I don't know, only that the water wasn't yet too cool.
This is how my lover saw me when he returned home. Some distant part of me had heard him come in, had registered it as a safe and welcomed concept, then my thoughts melted back to wherever they had been or to somewhere else. I mildly heard him walk into the bathroom, could practically see his special smile despite having my eyes closed, and this prompted me to smile in return before he walked back out. Within a few moments he was back, sitting on the side of the tub. My right hand reached up to him and felt his thigh, now naked, causing my smile to broaden. For a short time he didn't move, apparently simply enjoying the sight of my petite, feminine form decadently and literally soaking in pleasure.
He reached across me to get my favorite bath gloves, the ones that are a bit thicker and somewhat scalloped in texture. Sliding them on himself, he then immersed his hands into the tub, frustratingly beyond my touch, to wet and warm the gloves. He then grabbed my soap, the fragrance-free, hypoallergenic wonder that can go anywhere on or in me without any irritation and that leaves me feeling beyond clean, even more refreshingly naked. He slowly began to caress my right hand and arm, sudsing them, scrubbing them beyond "mmm, that feels great" but just before "hey, that's a too rough." With an intentionally slow method, he began to own wherever he rubbed, bringing it to life, causing everywhere else to long for his touch. It was both invigorating and calming, stimulating and reassuring, and undeniably utterly healthy. It felt like years of preconceptions, false ideals, societal expectations fell off me to soon be rinsed down the drain. It wasn't just feeling younger, but more like agelessness, unadulterated me-ness.
He washed my whole body with those almost-too-coarse gloves, using them to cleanse, caress and tease every part of me, all the external, or indeed almost internal, places he could reach. It was impossible for me to remain still in the tepid water. I couldn't help but to reach toward him with whatever part of me he caressed, to press against his hands in order to feel more of him, which was something he wouldn't allow, partly for the power involved and to keep me from rubbing my skin raw in its very softened state. He had me sometimes turn on my side, other times on my stomach, then again on my back in order to reach every bit, from behind my ears to between my toes and all places in between. It was glorious! When he finally removed and rinsed off the gloves, the water was fully cooled, but I was hot enough not to care.
He gently took hold of my hands and gradually eased me to my feet, being sure to keep me steady since the tub was slick with water and that hint of body oil. My lover released the plug on the drain, and I seemed to see all my previous stress and tension flow away. He removed the hand-held shower head from its base on the wall, turned on the water, and while he waited for the right temperature he adjusted it to the shower pulse setting he wanted. Soon he gently rinsed me off, concentrating the jets on, for example, my belly, but only slightly skimming over my quite erect nipples and swelling pussy. He knows darn well that my new habit of epilating and shaving leaves my skin, especially my pussy, feeling incredibly soft and dramatically more sensitive to touch, so he wasn't successful in trying to make it look accidental that he mostly avoided attending to that area. He sprayed water only enough to rinse but not enough for pleasure. However, he did a great job of insuring I was very thoroughly rinsed between my ass cheeks, that my sweet spot there was superbly clean, and that certainly did feel stupendous!
When the tub was nearly all drained after the shower was also off, my lover slowly and lovingly toweled me off, embracing me, caressing me with the towel, again ensuring that he reached all areas to dry me. Well, almost all areas!
