Wet Encounters Ch. 04

Either as Juanita or as Noan, she had done herself proud. In addition to using the flour to make a damper, she had found a couple of cans of soup and had opened the tin of butter, Using the now hot water from the kettle on the stove, she had washed a full set of crockery and cutlery for both of us. While searching for a tea towel, she had come across a tablecloth and napery. She had laid the table as if we were expecting royalty; albeit with mismatched crockery and cutlery.

She held out my chair for me, telling me to sit while she served the meal, I noted that, rather than setting our places on opposite sides of the table, she had set them so we would be sitting on adjacent sides; an idea I thought was a much better arrangement for lovers sharing a meal. It made it easier to hold hands and share food with each other. It also made it easier to kiss one's partner without having to lean across the table; a dangerous exercise when eating by candlelight or, in or our case, by hurricane lantern light.

"Before being seated," I said, suddenly feeling over-dressed, "I might follow your example and set my wet clothes by the stove to dry. I don't think I could enjoy your delicious meal sitting in wet clothes. Would you be offended If I undressed for dinner?"

"Not at all, Mister Matthew," she said, stepping back to let me get by her. "In fact, I was wondering if I should suggest it. I would hate to see you come down with a dose of pneumonia simply because you were too modest to remove your wet clothes."

I noticed that she had slipped back into her servant girl's role; perhaps as a result of my threat to throw her into a hot bath and scrub her down before bedding her. Her response hadn't escaped my notice, either. Up until the point where she was given a choice between being treated royally or aggressively, she had put aside her role-playing. I had been talking to Juanita. After the mention of being treated like a sex slave, however, she changed back to her servant girl role. From what she had said earlier, I knew she wanted something more than she had been getting - or not getting - at home. I also knew that, in spite of my protestations to the contrary, she thought I would treat her differently if she were a lowly servant girl. 'Who was I to deny her her wish,' I thought, as I stripped off my clothes and laid them over a chair in the kitchen.

Noan - which is who I was sure I was dealing with - brought me a towel to dry myself off; although I should say that she brought me a towel, which she used to dry me off. Everything went well until she turned me to face her. After she had finished drying my upper body, she squatted to do my legs and what usually hung between them. Of course, my cock was no longer hanging but, like a steadfast soldier, stood smartly at attention. If it had arms, I'm sure it would have been saluting. It did quite well without arms, though, and its single eye stared straight into those of Noan.

In her real-life role, Juanita had felt my penis against her body earlier in the evening, when we were kneeling against each other during her kiss-of-life training. She had rubbed herself up against it and commented that it represented the eight-inch difference between our heights. But feeling an encased cock is one thing; actually seeing it, was something else entirely. It took her by surprise. The look she gave me when she broke her gaze from its single hypnotic eye and looked up at me was one of trepidation.

It's not as if my penis was unusually thick. In fact, its thickness was in proportion to the dicks of other, less well-endowed men. I thought of it as the ideal Goldilocks cock. It wasn't too thick. It wasn't too thin. It was just right ...for its length, that is. But that made it thicker than most normal cocks. I don't think it was the length that disturbed Noan, though; in fact, I thought she was looking forward to having something inside her that would tickle her cervix. No, I think she was more concerned about its girth. I think she was afraid that it would be too thick for her.

"Don't worry, my darling," I said to calm her fear. "It'll go where it's meant to go. I know it's bigger than you're used to but I think you'll find that it'll give you the kind of satisfaction you've been yearning for. I won't hurt you, my love. I promise."

With that assurance, the fear left her eyes and she smiled. I saw her lick her lips as she lowered her head and kissed the eye and the top of its head. She giggled as it gave an involuntary spasm. She then reached up with both hands and held it steady while she wrapped her lips around its head and slipped it gently into her mouth. This time it was me who let out a long, drawn-out moan. But I had to pull her off when she started using her tongue to play with the trigger point in the crease below its helmet. I didn't want my first climax to end up in her mouth. I knew it was going to be a powerful eruption and I had a more appropriate place in mind for that first load. Besides, I doubted that she would have been able to hold it all, and I hate seeing good sperm going to waste.

I pulled her up and held her to me before lifting her chin so I could give her a long, lingering, saliva-swapping, tongue-jousting kiss. There was a flavour on her lips that hadn't been there before. Was it my pre-cum? I had to assume it was. Strangely, I had never tasted it before. Like Juanita's husband, my wife neither gave nor accepted oral sex. To her, it was dirty. In fact, in her eyes, anything but missionary-style sex was perverted. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy our sex, it was just that she had been brought up in a religiously conservative household. Her strict church-based upbringing had created barriers - particularly regarding her sexual activity - which prevented her from expressing her enjoyment.

For all I knew, she might well scream when she climaxed; just as Juanita had done earlier tonight. If she did, though, she kept it inside. There was never any outward sign that she was enjoying what we were doing; just as there was no outward sign that she was undergoing an orgasm. The only way I knew she had climaxed was that she would go flat. She would simply deflate. If I hadn't cum by then, I would have to pull out and finish myself off. I had never been allowed to test out my theory that all women can achieve multiple orgasms if they gave themselves half a chance.

It wasn't that she couldn't express herself - she had no trouble doing so when she was upset with me about something - it's just that she wouldn't. Not with me, anyway.

"There'll be time for that later, my darling," I said after breaking our kiss. "I don't want you rushing ahead with your human thermal lessons. And I don't want you spoiling your appetite. Nor do I want to be eating burnt offerings."

She hung the towel on a second chair - she later told me that she'd found a set of six freshly-washed towels in the linen cupboard, along with a second set of clean sheets and the table napery - and accompanied me back to the table. Like a good servant girl, she once again held my chair while I sat. She then unfolded my serviette, placing it delicately over my still steadfast soldier. She gave him a gentle rub as she removed her hand. He jumped in surprise. I heard her gasp and, when I looked down, I saw a moist patch develop in the middle of the napkin.

Noan giggled as she left me sitting alone at the table while she brought two bowls of hot soup from the kitchen and placed them, one at each setting. She'd found a rectangular Raleigh Ware tray in one of the cupboards, which she was using as a serving tray. It looked oddly familiar. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to set this little abandoned cabin up. And I didn't believe for one minute that they had done it on the off chance that a couple of stranded travellers would need to use it. It felt too much like it was used regularly.

Things like the tray - which probably would have been a wedding present given to every couple who had been married within the past twenty or thirty years; in fact my own parents had had one, and so did Liz and I - and the extra sets of sheets, pillowcases, towels indicated that some thinking had gone into setting this place up. I was sure that we weren't the only ones using the cabin for purposes other than mere shelter.

Whoever had planned it had made allowance for the beds to be made up with fresh sheets and pillowcases while the soiled linen was taken away to be washed. It appeared that enough time had elapsed since their last visit for the cleaned linen to be replaced but the beds had not been used since then. The freshness of the flour, rice and other foodstuffs - combined with the linen and the relative cleanliness of the place indicated that the mill manager's house was being used as a secret love nest. If so, by whom? I made a mental note - just one more to add to my growing list - to start keeping an eye on the place. It was, after all, on my property.

The cream of chicken soup that Noan had served was unexpectedly delicious. It was made doubly so by the accompanying freshly baked damper. Having just come from the oven, the butter melted into it. The combined flavours of the thick soup and floury bread made for a delicious and filling meal.

"You have a choice of tinned fruit or damper with butter and jam for dessert, Mister Matthew," Noan said, as she cleared away the soup bowls. "Missus Juanita said that, had she known she would be staying with you in your cabin tonight, she would have packed some supplies. Had I known I would be staying with you, I would have brought something down from my village."

"I think we might just settle for damper and jam," I said. "It's probably not a good idea for us to have too big a meal before I start you on your temperature-taking lessons. You might want to curl up like a big old python and go to sleep. No, damper and jam with a nice hot cup of tea would be fine. The night is getting on and I still have to throw you into the bath and scrub you down." I saw her shiver at the suggestion.

With dinner out of the way, I went to the bathroom to fill the tub while Noan cleared the table and washed the dishes. She put the left-over damper, along with the opened jar of jam, the opened can of butter and the opened bag of sugar into the refrigerator to protect it from the rodents overnight. Before joining me in the bathroom, she put a large piece of firewood into the firebox of the stove and damped it down. Being so late - it was going on for ten-thirty - it should be enough to ensure there were coals in the firebox to make for a quick start in the morning.

As it turned out, I didn't need to use Condy's Crystals in the bath. Someone had considerately left a bottle of bath salts in the cupboard of the vanity unit, Coincidentally, they were the same as my wife used. I was already in the bath when Noan came in from finishing her servant's chores. She didn't hesitate when I invited her to join me. She climbed in at the opposite end of the bath and, as she settled into the hot water, I spread my legs to give her room to sit. With her beautiful derriere settled on the bottom, she lifted her legs so they straddled mine. We sat there for about ten minutes, just looking into each other's eyes, I hoped that mine were transmitting the same message of desire that hers were sending to me.

In a few short hours, it appeared, we had gone beyond the lust we had first felt when we started playing games in the cabin of the Toyota. Our setting up house seemed to have pushed us well beyond lust. The fact that we could sit there together in the bath without touching each other proved that it wasn't that we didn't want to; in fact, I'm sure we were both holding ourselves in check - at least I know I was. It was just that we knew that there was more to come. And I didn't mean here and now. I somehow knew that we would love each other until the end of time. Whether we could do anything about it, given our circumstances, was an entirely different thing.

"Was all this talk about scrubbing your servant girl clean just a ploy to get me into a bath with you or are you going to get on with it?" Noan said, breaking into my meditative trance. She was sitting at the sloping end of the bath so I grabbed her ankles and dragged her towards me. She slid down the slope and went entirely under the water. When she surfaced, her legs were up over my shoulders and her pussy was pressed hard up against my ball sack.

"That was not very nice, Mister Matthew," she sputtered as she surfaced. "I could have drowned."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I replied. "I thought you wanted me to scrub you down. If I was mistaken, you could slide yourself back to the other end of the bath and I can continue to try to tell you how much I love you with my eyes. Of course, If you were to stay up this end of the bath with me, I could tell you with my lips ...and, perhaps, even with my hands.

"I intended to fill the bath with Condy's crystals - which is what I believe some of the old hands used to do before bedding their servant girls - but, alas, I couldn't find any. What I did find, however, was a bottle of bath salts. Is the smell familiar? Is it one that you use?"

"No," she said, "it is not one that I use. It is familiar, though; although it is probably one that's commonly available. I do know I have smelt it before. I just can't put my finger on who uses it.

"I think before I start scrubbing you, you should climb up on my lap and let me give you a bit of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," I said. "You've just had a near-drowning experience and, as Missus Juanita will tell you, a lifesaver's kiss can mean the difference between life and death."

She climbed up onto my lap with her knees straddling my legs. As I pulled her into me, I felt her hard nipples grazing the hairs on my chest. I felt my own nipples harden in response to hers rubbing up against them. With her legs spread wide, I also felt her open vaginal slit wrap itself around my shaft. As our lips met and our tongues started dancing, I felt her begin to slide her long curtain-like inner labia up and down along the length of my cock. She began rocking backwards and forwards so that her clitoris came into play.

The trouble with having sex in a bath - or in any water-filled environment - I have found, is that the juices we produce to lubricate each other tend to be washed away before they become useful. As much as I was enjoying our mutual humping, I knew that, if I let it continue, we would both end up sore and we'd regret another missed opportunity for a much more enjoyable outcome. I heard her groan as I broke our kiss and pushed her away.

"Later, my darling, I said, with a regretful tone in my voice. Turn around so I can do your back." She turned and knelt between my open legs. Using a coarse washer and a cake of soap - both of which were on hand - I washed her light caramel-coloured body from her lovely shapely neck and down her blemish-free back to the top of the crack that delineated the two halves of her heart-shaped derriere.

As I was washing her, I couldn't help but admire the shape of her upper body from the width of her shoulders to her narrow waist. Nor could I ignore the way her hips flared out from her waist and the way her buttocks billowed out to form that delectable backside I had come to love.

Noan wasn't merely a bystander in the washing process. Kneeling as she was in the vee formed by my open legs, her feet were tucked nicely into my groin. As I was washing her back, she was using her toes to massage my testicles. When I progressed to washing her beautiful bottom, she leaned forward to allow me access to her bum crack. With her weight resting on her hands, which gripped the sides of the old bathtub, she pivoted on her knees so she could raise her feet. I have no idea how she did it, but as I was sliding my soapy hand down between her buttocks and was teasing her tight little anus with my slippery finger, she managed to grip my cock with her feet and began stroking it in unison with my own upward and downward movements.

When she pushed herself down onto my soap-lubricated finger. I knew it was time to focus back onto the bathing routine. We needed to get it over and done with so we could get into the lover's bed that was awaiting us. After giving her rectum a couple of shallow, one-fingered reams. I told her to stand so I could wash her legs. Being a good servant girl, she obeyed my instructions; albeit reluctantly.

With soap and cloth, I worked my way up each leg until I reached the swell of her bum cheeks. Abandoning the washcloth, I then soaped up my hands and worked up the inside of each leg, gently rubbing he vulva with each stroke. She moaned each time I touched her outer lips and on the third pass, I felt her shudder before her knees gave way. She caught herself before she completely collapsed, but I knew she'd had a small orgasm. It seemed that she was like a pot simmering on the stove. All it took was a slight change in temperature to bring her back to the boil.

I turned her around and started working on the front of her legs. As I had done just a minute or two earlier, I washed the front and outer sides of her legs with the cloth and soap. When it came to washing the inside of her legs, however, I went back to using my soapy hands. The bathtub wasn't really wide enough for her to spread her legs - particularly standing as she was between my own spread legs - but it made little difference. She was almost a full hand's width between the legs, which was plenty of room for me to get the edges of my hands into her gap. Her knees gave way as soon as I touched her outer labia. Once again, she caught herself.

By removing one hand, I was able to force a couple of fingers between the thick lips of her outer clamshell-like vulva and release her inner, curtain-like labia. After rubbing the two fingers along her slit to lubricate them, I pushed first one then the second up into her vagina. She let out a little mouse squeal as she felt them enter her and, once again, I felt her shudder as she experienced another small orgasm. Using her pubic muscles, she tried to pull my fingers deeper inside. At the same time, she pushed her body down onto them. She was half squatting with her knees spread wide by the time the tips of both fingers touched on her G-spot.

I stroked it once. She let out a moan. I stroked it a second time. She let out a long groan. This time, however, it was mixed with that animal sound she makes. I stroked it a third time. She exploded in a giant squirting orgasm. The combined scream and growl would have had anyone within earshot thinking that the Hound of the Baskervilles had been released and had found its next victim. This time, she did collapse and ended up back on her knees.

I pulled her to me and held her tightly while she came down from her climax. She kept shuddering as she was wracked by aftershocks and continued to pump out small squirts.

After she had settled down, and while she was kneeling in front of me, I soaped her up from her thick pubic hair to her neck; paying particular attention to her little insy belly button and her beautiful tits. Using the cloth, I then wiped her down. Once again, I had her stand and, using an old laundry dipper, rinsed her off.

"My turn," she said, after I had finished removing all trace of the soap with which I had lathered her.

"You can do me tomorrow," I said. I need to get you to bed. You've had a big day and you still have a few things to learn about temperature taking. I've just demonstrated two of them but there are a couple more you need to see before you go to sleep.

"How about you go and get our towels from the kitchen while I have a quick wash. I think that, with the way you have been ejaculating, you'd better see if there are another couple of towels in the linen cupboard. I think we're going to need them before the night is out.'