Soaed to the Sin

It was not something Hannah could put her finger upon: much less describe. There was a feeling, not a strong feeling more a nagging doubt that all had not been as it seemed; that the man's bonhomie and easy conversation was a trifle contrived; that there was more to his pleasantries than met the eye. But she was not sure; it was only a small worry at the time.

It was only later, looking back that she realised her behaviour had not been normal, that it had slowly and subtly changed, that she had not been acting as she usually would and that realisation had caused her to seek an explanation. The limited evidence pointed towards him; that he had done something to her; something early on: there was no question he had not done something to her later! There was, after all, no one else involved.

But it had not been planned; the whole meeting at the railway station had been happenstance. Surely it could not all have developed out of an accidental meeting in the rain?

The interview had, despite it all, gone well. Hannah had not seen anyone frowning at her clothes, at the way they looked crumpled as if she had not ironed them after the wash. They had, of course, mostly been men and she would not really have expected them to notice such things. Hannah smiled; her close friend, Angie Scott, would have had a bon mot on the subject along the lines of men tending to see the woman under the clothes; indeed seeing through the clothes, missing them entirely, whilst looking for the body beneath.

The dampness in her panties had long gone yet Hannah was still conscious her body held the outcome of the morning's intercourse. For no real reason that she could fathom, she had engaged in sexual relations with a complete stranger in a workman's hut on the railway. She had taken all her clothes off, admittedly to dry them on a radiator, and this had lead through conversation to her own arousal and request that he fuck her 'properly.' It simply was not what she did. She was no virgin, not that her mother knew that, but she was no trollop who jumped on men's laps just like that. Yet she had done just that and onto an older, indeed much older man as well. She had liked him. He had been amusing and so pleasant.

Amusing and pleasant were good but not enough surely to go that far and offer herself like that?

Hannah did not understand but she had, even so, accepted his invitation to call upon him again the next day. She was not inclined to fail to turn up - indeed she was looking forward to renewing the acquaintance. The man had been really rather engaging and he did not, after all, live far away and she could go on her bicycle.

Just at the time Hannah was returning by train from her interview and pondering on the strange events of the morning, a little up the road from the station and that very workmen's hut that had been the scene of those events a marital conversation had begun:

"Oh, this is a nice surprise, dear. I thought you were staying the night in London at the Savoy. Did you meet Hannah Hutchings on the train as you had arranged?"

The man kissed his wife.

"Not as such; it all worked out rather differently from what I had planned. The rain rather stopped that particular play. No need to go to the hotel."

"It was simply awful. I did feel for you. Did you get caught? But, I can see, you enjoyed yourself."

"Oh yes, she is a fine, strapping young girl, just as you said."

"You copulated?"

"Naturally. She was very pliable in the end. Quite juicy!"

"Lovely dear, you do still so enjoy that game. Will you be taking the young girl again?"

"Tomorrow I think. I've invited her to luncheon"

"Oh that will be nice.. It does save me all that messy bother. I really find it too much these days. Far better you enjoy yourself with younger women. They have the stamina and the lubrication! You can play with her whilst I have a lie down after luncheon. I shall enjoy seeing her at lunch. Tell me, what happened. I do like a good story."

"You know I said it looked like it might rain later when I set out for the train?"

"Yes. The clouds were threatening and it did so pour after you'd gone. I was worried for you."

"Well, I got truly caught but, more to the point, so did she. Like a half drowned kitten. Totally soaked and her blouse all transparent with the rain."

"Pleasing for you, my dear: most tiresome for Hannah. Did you help her off with that? I told you she had a fine bosom."

"Very fine. All in good time..."

The next morning found Hannah cycling up the road. It was drizzling slightly. She had her cagoule over her dress to keep it dry but the rain was wetting her legs. It did not really matter her trainers getting wet as she had her high heeled shoes in the bag on her back. Her mother had asked her where she was going and she had made some story up. Her mother had been worried about her going out in the rain "after yesterday." Not that her mother knew half about "yesterday."

She was very much too smartly dressed for cycling but an invitation to lunch at the big house was not something she could turn up in just jeans and tee shirt. Not, Hannah suspected, her dress would stay on all afternoon. She was sure Sir Hugh Wagstaff would find some excuse for nakedness and if he didn't she would! Hannah did not understand it but she had enjoyed the fuck yesterday and wanted to do it again. She knew he was old enough to be her father - her grandfather even and, if all her ancestors had sired at fifteen or sixteen, even her great grandfather!

Hannah was puzzled at herself but there she was in her little grey dress cycling through the rain to East Mumble Hall. Her freshly bathed sex firmly planted on the leather of the bicycle seat, her hands on the handlebars and her wet legs propelling her along the road. Probably Sir Hugh would have preferred her naked beneath the cagoule, happy for her to hand it to him on her arrival, pleased to towel her legs to dryness and, no doubt, more than content that she could still wear her high heeled shoes. It would have felt funny just wearing the cagoule - rather clammy and sweaty without some cotton or the like between her skin and the nylon. Had it been fine she could have dispensed with the cagoule but what would the drivers and other cyclists she had passed have thought - let alone her mother seeing her off!

And what would the leather feel like without the protection of her grey dress and panties? Sir Hugh would, like as not, have made some very apposite comment about the intimacy the leather saddle had with her, about how jealous the boys would be, about how surprisingly intimate a bicycle saddle is with a girl. Hannah laughed as she turned into the entrance drive of the hall, her bicycle wheels making a pleasing scrunching sound on the gravel.

Leaning on his spade the gardener watched from the bushes. What a gay young thing with a pretty laugh! Such long smooth legs making the bicycle wheels go round. He wondered if Sir Hugh would need his assistance later.

A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds illuminating the stone porch as Hannah rode up. It really was quite a grand house. She looked up at the sky for the rainbow. Her optimism was rewarded, the rainbow arcing across the sky in brilliant colours.

"Hannah, my dear, so pleased you could come." The man was there, hand outstretched, immaculately attired in tweed and brogues. Hannah had half expected to find him naked but for a leather thong - a kynodesme. Perhaps he wore it beneath.

"It is such a shame it is still raining. A walk in the garden would have been so pleasant. Perhaps, though, the conservatory after luncheon. The best we shall manage if the rain holds might be a walk down the garden and back? I would like to show you my garden. It is wonderful in the sunshine but this rain is such a nuisance. Let me take your coat."

'Coat' was a little overstating Hannah's cagoule but she was happy to hand it over and retrieve her high heels. They brought her rather higher than she had been in the workman's hut when barefoot. She smoothed the grey dress down, her fingers lightly tracing her thighs. She did not like to mention her legs but they would dry.

"Please this way."

Hannah walked before him. She had half expected his hand to pat her buttocks in a familiar way and encourage her forward. She could imagine the thin dress would have given the temptation but that did not seem to be Sir Hugh's style. He had, after all, been very gentlemanly in the workman's hut, not seeking to take advantage and, indeed, it was she who had taken the initiative - she thought.

Lady Lyanthe rose as Hannah entered the room.

"Hannah, my dear, how good of you to come."

Hannah could recall meeting Lady Lyanthe before. Was it at the village hall or some social event of her mother's? She could not remember.

"Pleased to meet you. It was kind of Sir Hugh to invite me. I... we... he was very kind to me at the station in the rain; I was on the way to an interview and..."

"Yes, yes Hugh told me. So unfortunate, getting so wet; must have been dreadful; but with a happy ending?"

"Yeah, I got to the interview OK."

"Arnold Barker's company I believe."

"You know him?"

"Oh yes, we do. Hugh was at school with Arnold. A good man, indeed a good company. How did the interview go?"

It was all very pleasant. A glass of wine as an aperitif before lunch; easy relaxed conversation; both her hosts charming. Lady Lyanthe had even been complimentary about her dress. "Hugh is such a philistine. All he sees is the body beneath. Don't you my dear? Too much a connoisseur of the female form. But it is of course good for a man to have a hobby. Better than motor cars - all that oil!"

The remark, though, was slightly strange. Humorous certainly but giving the suggestion that Lady Lyanthe knew more of the workman's hut than Hannah would have expected.

Luncheon was equally good and as far as Hannah could judge the wine was very good indeed both white and red. Outside the day looked a little brighter, clouded over but with the occasional hint of blue. Sir Hugh saw Hannah looking at the window.

"Yes we shall try the garden later. We may risk getting all muddy but that is nature and perhaps Freikörperkultur."

"Oh you and your Freikörperkultur," said Lady Lyanthe, "only suitable for the Mediterranean or perhaps the Indies: not England even in summer. The Germans are a hardy lot but, unlike Hugh, I don't have any German blood."

"My maternal grandfather," explained Sir Hugh, "I used to go to Germany a lot as a boy."

Hannah was nonplussed; she had not expected such a clear continuation of yesterday's conversation.

"You would like to try nudity outside the hut I presume?"

Hannah stared. It was evident Lady Lyanthe knew everything or at least nearly everything. What could she say? What should she say?

"Oh, I don't know that I could."

"It is such a fine dress," said Lady Lyanthe, "it is a pity not to wear it but you would not want to get it all muddy. I could lend you something."

But it was clear Sir Hugh was having none of it. "Nonsense. Strong strapping lass is not going to feel the cold; it is brightening; we might even see the sun; a glass of brandy will do the trick and if we keep moving at a brisk pace."

"Well, I shall retire for a while. You are not to tire our guest, Hugh, and see she does not get cold."

Hannah was not used to wine at lunch let alone strong spirits; still less to undressing in front of her hosts at lunch. Of course the brandy helped and Sir Hugh did seem to be rather persuasive.

Lady Lyanthe watched. Indeed Sir Hugh watched. It was not like the workman's hut. Hannah felt herself on show.

"Such a pretty dress," Lady Lyanthe was returning to her previous comment but now it was folded over a chair. Hannah was standing in Sir Hugh's dining room with nothing but her bra and panties. It had not been easy pulling the dress over her head, not in company. Of course the underclothes were dry this time.

"And what a pretty figure. Come, my dear, don't be shy, show us - or rather me - all."

It seemed awfully rude not to comply straightway. Hannah blushed as her hands reached and she undid the bra strap and let it fall away, her breasts revealed. It was as easy to get it over with as wait. The panties came down.

"Why, my dear, how naughty. Shaving at your age. Well I never. Turn for me. Yes, a lovely figure, your dress did not lie. Well I'll leave you now for a nap. Hugh I am sure will entertain you with his boundless energy."

Sir Hugh showed his wife out before returning to his naked guest. "Right, let's have this walk. Let me show you the grounds. But of course, first the Freikörperkultur."

It was clear Sir Hugh had no compunction about undressing in front of Hannah. Even when his penis bounded out of his underpants already fully erect.

Hannah had seen it before but she could not avoid her eyes widening. It was the incongruity, perhaps or was it its fine proportions? It was as big as she remembered.

"Come," he said and the two of them stepped out of the French Windows into the open air. It was not something you could do anywhere but clearly a naked couple walking out of the house, and down stone steps with the man sporting an erection was quite acceptable at the Hall. Not that there was obviously anyone to see. The gravel was a little uncomfortable on Hannah's feet but soon her bare feet were on the wet grass; soft if a little cold. Sir Hugh was chatting merrily pointing out this and that about the house and the grounds.

A shaft of sunlight came between the clouds illuminating the lawn in yellow light - and the strolling pair.

"See the weather is brightening!"

Hannah was not so sure but the garden was certainly fine even if her mode of viewing it was a little peculiar. She was happier closer to the borders, on the grassed paths between hedges, indeed anywhere but out in the open in the middle of the lawn. She felt so exposed, so vulnerable. And Sir Hugh was certainly exposed. It really was most peculiar!

Sir Hugh had not been so right about the weather. The rain began to pour. It was very like being caught on the way to the railway station a few days before, only this time she did not have to wait to be soaked to the skin: that happened straightway - there were no clothes for the rain to soak through!

The rain soaking her hair, running down her neck, cascading off her breasts - off her cold hardened nipples - like two miniature waterfalls. Sir Hugh looked like he was perpetually urinating as the rain ran in streams down his stomach and much of it seemed to run out along his flaccid penis and rush to the ground in a stream. There was no point hurrying anywhere and Sir Hugh seemed to find it all very funny and Hannah could not but join in. There was no pressure, no ruined interview clothes, and no deadline to meet: they were out for a walk and the rain had come down and they were soaked. Naked and soaked. It was not as if the warm house was far away. It was easy just to enjoy being out in it, as natural a shower as you could get and the water so soft. The rain just poured.

They sought shelter in a little thatched summer house. It was charming, thoroughly charming. A sort of mock Tudor construct even with a little brick chimney complete with corkscrew stack at the top; leaded light windows, an oak door and certainly shelter from the rain.

"A little folly of my great grandfather's. Perhaps he built it for dalliance in the garden. I wonder who he brought here?"

Hannah wondered if its purpose had not changed at all in all the years it had stood there; but it was cold inside especially as they were so wet.

Sir Hugh crouched over the brick fireplace and within seconds there was a flame. Dry tinder and ready kindling plus the all important ingredient of a match had done the trick. The fire, if not yet warm, was certainly cheery as the rain came outside and beat on the old leaded panes. Sir Hugh drew up a wooden bench before the fire and they sat on it warming their naked feet. The fire crackled as it gained hold sending smoke and sparks up the chimney. Sir Hugh added a few small logs. It was building nicely.

"Well Hannah, here we are sheltering from the rain again."

"But isn't a real fire so much nicer than an electric radiator."

"But we were more than grateful for it."

"Mmmm. Got our clothes toasty warm." Hannah could feel the heat now coming off the fire. Her initial thought that it would be best to head to the house was going. This was really rather fun.

"Sitting on this wooden bench, sitting naked I mean, reminds me what you were saying about the Turkish Bath the other day, you know in Germany and how..."

"No, no, no not a Turkish Bath but a sauna. They are not the same. In a sauna the air is dry, very dry but in a Turkish Bath it is steamy. Both are very good for you. Of course the Turkish Bath, the Hamam, is very similar to Roman baths and we are going back a long way to those! They can be very beautiful buildings, you must see one, try one in Turkey sometime or around that part of the world."

"And it is like the Germans? Everyone naked and both sexes together?"

"Again no, not at all. That would appal the Turk! Strict segregation of the sexes, different baths or different times and not nudity - at least not for the men. A towel at all times."

"Not what I would have expected."

"Ah well, reputations are not always deserved or justified. No, the Hamam is a place of relaxation and a meeting place. Properly there are three basic rooms; you would like me to explain?"

Hannah assented.

"You begin in the warm room where you relax and perspire before moving to the hot room, the Sicaklik. In the best it is a domed room with small glass windows in the dome that create a half-light; the room will contain a large marble stone called a Göbektasi at the centre on which you and others lie and are given a very vigorous soapy massage. You can cool yourself by ladling cold water or taking it flowing from fountains. The room is hot and steamy with vapour - not, my dear, steamy with sex! Finally there is the cold room to have a refreshing drink a sherbet or sometimes tea - çey, take a snack - çerez, and perhaps take a nap in a private cubicle and dress."

"It is easy for the more Western mind to conjure up a vision of naughtiness in such a place. Such a little twist and all is not simply exotic but erotic!"

Sir Hugh was warming to his theme. Hannah was happy to sit, opening her legs a little so the heat of the fire warmed her sex as she listened.

"Imagine you arrive at this, what shall we call it, this naughty Hamam, this Kötü Hamami. It is a building of some antiquity, beautifully marbled and tiled - if a little 'faded glory.'

An old woman greets you, 'Merhaba, Hannah hanim', and you slip your clothes from your body. You dress in a pretty cotton peshtemal, pick up a towel and don wooden clogs - Nalin, to stop you slipping on the wet marble floor and settle yourself in the warm room. It is quiet and pleasant. A few other women join you, pleasant chatter as you perspire and then into the Sicaklik. A surprise, for it is not just women there but there are young male masseuses waiting, seemingly just dressed merely in towels. You had perhaps been expecting Kispet, leather trousers worn by the oil wrestlers. Perhaps you might see that later; strong men trying to clasp and throw their opponent with them all slippery with olive oil. It is perhaps like the wrestling of the Ancients.

The massage is not gentle, the men are strong and you are in their hands. The massage is firm done with a rough glove, a Kese.

You are staring at the young man, you can see the swelling beneath the towel and you are so wishing that the towel will slip, that the fold at the waist will give way and it will fall; perhaps catching momentarily on his strongly upstanding cock but then dropping to the ground leaving the young man's light brown skin shining in the light, his hard circumcised penis pointing towards the dome above you. Let us have it fall!