Dirty Soap

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


I’m entering this in the 2019 Valentine’s Day contest; I hope you enjoy it. In the grand scheme of my stories, it happens sometime after the events in “Lucas and the Library Girl,” though as with most of my stories this one stands alone.

Make sure you read all the great Valentine’s entries and vote on your favorites!

* * *

I came volcanically, my teeth clenched tight enough to make my jaw ache, my whole body tingling with the power of the hormones pumping through my body like the hot water pumping onto my back. The shower was on full blast, obliviously rinsing my already-rinsed hair while I paid no attention to the water bill or the overtaxed water heater or the dents my hands were wearing into yet another bar of soap. This one was a spoon-shaped sliver already, worn down by more than the normal wear and tear, its lifespan probably shortened considerably by the number of times I’d used it to get myself off.

Trembling, I looked down at it, worn and rolled now where I’d used it to press right above my clit while my fingers were busy just inside my lips, ignoring the cataract channeling between my tits and down my belly, only to be stymied by my bush; the water wasn’t something I was paying attention to during my showers these days.

No, I was here for the soap, all finger-grooved and slick and shiny, like my pussy. And there, scraggled on the surface of the bar, was a single black pubic hair, kinked and stark against the white. It lay there while I shivered, coming slowly down from the orgasmic high, the fingers of my other hand still stroking gently at my slit. Jesus Christ, I gasped to myself. This one had been a killer.

They were getting more and more intense, these shower cums. And it was only a matter of time before I blacked out during one of them, before my knees gave way and dumped me with an ignominious squawk onto the floor of the bathtub. Before I cracked my head open against the faucet, or broke an arm or something. But good lord, it’d be worth it.

I shook my hair out down my back and sighed, licking absently at my wrinkled fingers; one hand would taste like soap, the other like pussy. I’d never minded tasting myself, fortunately, and I kept on staring down at that single perfect pubic hair as I sucked off the last of my orgasm. Then, just as the water started to go cool, I scraped my finger across the face of the bar of soap. It took me a couple tries this time to get the black coil free, digging a trench deep into the face of the soap, but eventually I had the hair before my face, looped over the end of my fingernail, and I shivered one more time.

It wasn’t the water temp.

I drew my finger across my bush, my new secret habit, peering down to admire the black squiggle in among my own auburn hair. I smiled to myself, loving how it looked, and then I groped behind me for the faucet and let the water come to its stop.

* * *

Another bleak winter day, and it was nice to have a dog around again. To me, that was the whole point of this arrangement anyway.

There’s just something about sitting on your couch reading a book with a dog in your lap that transcends anything. Really, it’s the best thing the world has to offer. And Jersey McGoo the Lazy Lab was ideal for that kind of work. He was a goddamn living blanket. “Wait,” I told him, rolling him sideways so that I could tuck my feet underneath him, curling my heels up against my ass. And he just stared up at me with those liquid-chocolate eyes and let me mold him around my body, and then?


The shower down the hall stopped with the usual rattle of pipes in the walls. Ah. Lucas was done. He’d be shoving the glass door aside now, leaning his dripping naked body out to grab the towel before drying off in the tub. I smiled, thinking of him. I knew he had a job interview today.

“Hey, Bev.” He came out from the bathroom hall with his usual quiet confidence, glancing at the dog and I with a smile. He winked. “I leave you in his capable hands.”

I laughed over at him, then glanced back at the dog. “Paws.” I leaned in and let my smile touch the lab’s nose, at which point his flat sandy tongue found my lips with his usual warm, chamois-rag swipe. We both laughed. “Go, and good luck,” I told Lucas as he headed for the front door. “If I have to cuddle up on the couch with anything, I guess there’s worse than Jersey.”

He grinned back, the sun strong on the side of his face, then slipped from the house with another wink. I sighed happily. Such a great guy. Other than an unfortunate predilection to avoid doing his dishes, he had so few flaws. Made me wonder about the shrill phone calls on Friday nights.


With a decisive shake of my head and a gnawing emptiness in my pussy, I rolled Jersey McGoo to the side, jamming him against the back cushions. He didn’t seem to notice. I got up and stretched high, feeling the long sleeping shirt against my body, smiling devilishly. I had a shower to take.

* * *

I lay tuzla escort that night in the wet spot, staring at the ceiling while he panted beside me, wondering why I hadn’t been able to cum. Christ, he’d been fucking me so hard, with those jackhammer thrusts of his that used to leave me shrieking in the moment and sore the next day. The wait staff had always been able to tell, I was convinced, when I’d gotten laid the night before; I usually avoided letting my thighs touch, on account of the chafing from the friction.

Tonight had been no different, the two of us devouring each other head to toe, those endless tickly little explorations we’d always done as foreplay getting me all drooly between my legs, his own excitement leaving a pearly trail of precum across my body as he dragged his cock over my flesh. I’d reached for him, convulsively, grappling for his body with my eyes closed, digging my nails into whatever part of him I could find, until I’d finally given a throaty grunt of triumph as my hand closed around his dick.

I’d pulled him on top of me, my legs jacked impossibly wide, totally open for him, and I’d smelled the toothpaste from above me as he’d held himself there chuckling while I continued the play, pulling his wide, fat head against my pussy, coaxing myself open and teasing him, too; his gasps into my face told me how badly he wanted to lose control, to drive his ass down and his cock into me, to claim my body as he had for years.

But no; I was enjoying the tease too much, loving my control and knowing it was about to end, already tasting the moment where I’d give all that control up to him, to his stringy driving thighs and his wildly rocking hips and the filling sensation of his cock nudging against the back of my pussy, dragging itself out against my clit again and again; he’d always known how to make me cum.

And I’d been on my way that night, too, well into it, the breath shivering out of me in deep, harsh gusts as I tried to talk dirty into his ear: “Yeah, baby. Fuck this pussy. I want all your cum, you fucking beautiful bastard. Cum in me.” He’d always loved that, letting the words drive him further and faster as my nails dug into his back and his sweat dripped onto my forehead, and he’d started gibbering with his eyes wide and I’d felt my body move higher, higher toward oblivion…

But then he’d cum, hilting himself into me with that final definitive shudder, his cock pulsing inside me like a living thing, the toothpaste filling my nose with his gusting breath while I grappled his ass and hung on tight, waiting, waiting for my own orgasm.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Why couldn’t I cum from sex anymore?

But then I thought about my shower, and the black pube I’d ground carefully into my bush at the end of it, and I thought I knew why.

* * *

Jersey flopped to his feet one night as I dragged myself back home. I was late; one of the fucking newbies had screwed up the tip system again, and the numbers hadn’t matched, and of course that meant I had to stay until I could make them match, so everyone was fast asleep when I got back. God bless that husband of mine; he’d waited up as long as he could, the TV still talking to his sleeping face while he lolled across the couch, but it wasn’t him that came to greet me at the door.

“Hi, pup,” I smiled wearily, trailing my fingers across Jersey’s nose; poor bastard must be totally confused at what he smelled there. The remains of a restaurant shift had to be an olfactory assault for the poor doggie, no matter how many times I washed my hands. I listened to the house, hearing nothing from the other rooms, and sighed. “Lucas couldn’t wait up, could he? Just you.” I pondered the man on the couch, then nudged Jersey aside as I kicked off my shoes and went to get my husband to go to bed with me.

* * *

Next day was midwinter cold and bright, another morning spent plugging away at my online masters’ course with the labrador’s head in my lap and the old house creaking around me. Lucas made his usual appearance just before lunch; he had another interview, but not until later. He poked his head around the corner. “Shower’s free, Bev.”

“Cool,” I’d smiled back up at him. “I’ll head in in a few minutes.” I caught an arched eyebrow. “What? You saying I stink?”

“Never,” he smirked. “I know better.”

“Good,” I humphed, mock-annoyed, thinking about those Friday night phone calls.

“You were late last night,” he added, just making conversation now, that stringy body of his leaning against the pass-through. “I heard you come in.”

“Bullshit. You were sound asleep,” I giggled, stretching again; I wondered whether he could see my nipples through the t-shirt, then decided he definitely could. “All I had was the faithful Jersey McGoo,” I pouted.

“Ah, come on.” He was grinning now. “He just hangs out with you because you feed him.”

“So what’s your excuse?” God, I loved teasing him. He liked it too. I forced myself not to look pendik escort down at the front of his jeans. “Is it because I feed you too?”

“Sure. Stop cooking and see how long I stick around.” He nodded and went back into the hallway, and I sighed with one hand on the dog’s snout and the other resting against my laptop and decided maybe it was shower time, after all.

I whistled loudly as I strolled down the hall in my shirt and yesterday’s yoga pants, already feeling my body warming, readying; I had no doubt I was already soaking my thong. Funny; I used to go without, in yoga pants, but lately I was finding I needed the absorption. Behind me I heard Jersey rolling off the couch, shaking himself lazily out so that he could go find Lucas. Damn dog needed his humans as badly as we needed him. I smiled at the thought while I shoveled a clean thong, shirt, and flannel pair of pajama bottoms out of my bureau.

I kicked the bathroom door closed behind me; in a house of this vintage, it just wedged itself closed in the jamb, sticking there, which was no problem because the doorknob didn’t work anyway. Ahh, old houses. I gave it an extra shove, gently, mostly because Jersey had walked in on me once while I was showering, letting in a gust of cold air that had pulled goosebumps from my arms as I rinsed. He’d squatted there on his haunches with his tongue out when I’d opened the sliding door, his head cocked sideways, wondering why I was wet and naked and yelling at him.

The shower came shuddering on, the February sun blazing through the big window by the pedestal sink, and the sound of the water hitting the enamel of the old cast-iron tub already had me sighing. I did love a shower; the beat of the hot water, the sinuses unclenching in the steam; it was all so exhilarating, even without an orgasm. Though, like most things, it was a lot better when I came. I stripped quickly, conscious of myself in the mirror on the other wall: I wasn’t bad, I kept telling myself, for a woman of thirty-four, with fourteen years of hotfooted restaurant service on my thighs. I was fortunate to work in a relative craphole; I wasn’t tempted by the food we served, not anymore. The new chef loved salt a little too much, and all the food tasted like licking the sand at Seaborne Beach at low tide.

Yep, I decided, staring at my naked body in the mirror: old girl’s still got it. Nice legs, an okay abdomen, tits still holding up well. No ass, but there was nothing new there; I had years of experience in coping with my flat butt. Overall? There was a good reason why my husband loved to fuck me. More than one good reason, too. Hell, I decided, a smirk curling my lip, I’d fuck me too. In fact, I already was; my hand was cupping my pussy as I stepped high to get into the steamy shower, feeling the hot flutter down there; as I always did, I waited until I’d gotten my hair all shiny-wet before I checked the bar of soap.

Success! I grinned at myself, the water already weighing my eyelashes down. Lucas had left me two pubes today.

I was obsessed these days, and I was smart enough to know that was probably an unhealthy thing; that I should wait and cum during sex. But I just couldn’t. My fingers were already teasing at the top of my vagina as I reached my other hand out for the bar of soap, grasping it; it thrilled me when I realized it was still slick, still wet from soaping his nude body, and that thought alone pulled the first faint, quavering spasm from my labia. I heard myself sigh, moving the soap to my body; Jesus Christ. It was amazing to think that smooth little white sliver had just a few minutes before been laving Lucas’ balls, bubbling merrily along his cock. He’d glided it across the lower part of his belly, that part on a man that I love like no other, the sensitive warm flesh between his belly button and the root of his cock.

I knew how to make a man squirm, playing down there.

I shivered, something like an electric shock buzzing me when I brought the hairy soap to my cunt. I imagined it running over his scrotum, his own eyes closing in the steam; every man loves his balls being fondled, even if he’s the one doing it. Even by a bar of soap. It was on me now, that same soap, sliding slowly along my pussy lips, alternating in time with my other hand tickling along the edge of my slit. I had myself bow-legged, squatting slightly, my quads easing my body up and down, up and down, slowly at this point while I got into it.

But fuck me, I already was into it. I’d been into it since I’d heard Lucas turn the water off. My body was humming, my brain was going that soft and remote way, my skin tingling with a heat that had nothing to do with the water temperature. My mind was shouting out the equation: his cock had touched the soap; the soap was touching my pussy; his cock was touching my pussy, running all over it, rhythmic swipes now along my inner thighs with the soap while my fingers took on slit duty, pinching gently but persistently at myself, persuading that tiny aydınlı escort clit of mine to come out and play.

His pubes, brushing my skin… not in fantasy, but for real…

And that thought brought me into a higher orbit. I heard my strangled gasp, felt my chest heave out its breath, and my finger got busier. I was rolling my hips now, my knees bending further. Some days I perched a foot on the rim of the tub, but today there was no time for that shit: I was already well on my way, my skin turning red and blotchy, the water running unheeded down my back and sluicing through the crack of my ass. I was panting now; I could hear it even through the fog in my brain, and goddamn I hoped I wouldn’t scream his name.

That was the last thing I needed.

Things were speeding up now, the steam rising all around me. My fingers were vicious along my lips, digging deviously up behind my clit, and suddenly it was time: the soap came up slickly, my eyes wide open to catch the black against the white, past my burrowing fingers and up to the top of my cunt, pushing hard there, applying the pressure I needed… needed…

Holy motherfucker.

Pushed from both sides, my clit screamed: I felt my legs shake, nearly buckling, and suddenly my breath was whistling out in harsh, grunting gasps, snot flying out unnoticed, my eyes shut tight now, and there it was. Heaven. The bliss smacked me like a tornado on an Oklahoma street, whirling me up out of myself, taking my brain far away while my pussy stayed anchored to my fingers and the awesome power of his hair on the soap.

I staggered, my foot launching out to catch me when I stumbled and when I shot a hand out to steady myself it wasn’t the one with the soap; no way in hell I was letting go of that, clasping his hair to my body, still quaking as my reddened brain ran slowly down. I felt the water mixing, now, with sweat and tears on my face, and a last shaky gust of breath finally brought me back down. Holy shit. It was getting more and more intense by the day, and I clawed once more at the bar of soap, collecting my prize, smearing those two vibrant pubes right up against my outer lips this time, getting them nice and tangled.

I stood then, satisfied again, putting the depilated soap back in the dish; I didn’t need it anymore. I grabbed the body wash, shook the water out of my eyes, and got on with my shower.

* * *

February groaned on; the weather bitches on TV kept saying the days were getting warmer, but I didn’t believe them. Walking to my car after closing still felt like I should be able to look up and see the northern lights, because it couldn’t possibly be any colder in fucking Finland or wherever. I lay tense one night, with him nibbling idly at one of my nipples after he’d fucked me again, once more with that delicious soreness in my thighs and that vague emptiness in my cunt.

“We doing dinner again? On Tuesday?” he asked me drowsily, his breath hot against my tit, and I had to suppress a shudder.

“Out? Maybe not this year, hon,” I sighed. I’d been doing an awful lot of hours lately, and the idea of sitting in a restaurant, any restaurant, even as a customer, struck me as faintly perverse. Besides, it can be hard for restaurant people to eat out around a big holiday like Valentine’s. We know all the tricks and shortcuts the cooks do to move the product. The actual holiday was Wednesday, but since I’m always working Valentine’s dinner, we usually celebrated the night before.

“Well,” he murmured, trailing a finger down my belly, “I’m sure I’ll be eating out…” He pushed the finger straight up into me, into the soup he’d left inside me, and I moaned as expected. It didn’t feel good, really, but it was dirty. And I loved dirty. “Actually, we should raincheck it til Thursday anyway,” he went on, wiping his finger off in my muff. It was one thing I never had understood about him: the idea of tasting his own semen seemed to leave him squeamish. I couldn’t see the problem, but then I’d been drinking his cum since we’d been in college. “I’ve got to chaperone the dance this year.”

“Ah.” I shook my head. “No pay, of course.”

“They feed us.” I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself. His school had its dances catered by The Bentley, one of our competitors. I knew how they did their shortcuts, too. I ran my hand through his hair, auburn like mine. It hadn’t surprised anyone when they’d heard we were dating, back in the day. There’d been unkind jokes about gingers and inbreeding. “What?”

“Nothing, hon.” He was starting to calm down now. “So,” I teased, “I’m just supposed to spend the most romantic day of the year with your buddy Lucas?” The idea thrilled me more than I cared to admit, especially to my husband. “He’ll still be here then. Even if he finds a job, like, tomorrow, he won’t be able to move out right away.”

“I know, Bev, and I’m sorry.” Lucas moving in with us had been a very temporary thing; we only had the one bathroom and I was giving up my craft space so he could sleep here. “He’ll find something soon.” He prodded once again at my vagina. “Besides, you won’t be alone with Lucas,” he pointed out, and I could already predict the punchline. “Jersey will be here, too.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın