Friday, June 1, 2012

36 DIRTY AND CLEAN

~Chapter 36~
DIRTY AND CLEAN

she
I'm nervous. I should not be nervous to work out, an activity at which I am not only competent, but also well practiced.

It's those hungry eyes of his.

I could be wearing fleece sweatpants and a ratty tee shirt and he'd still be watching my every move…but I'm not. I'm wearing my tiniest compression shorts and my most mammarily advantageous top. And the way he watched as I pulled my hair into a ponytail, as if he were memorizing each motion… How hot is it to be so thoroughly desired and so utterly known?

The thin scrap of lycra between my legs won't hold me if this keeps up. I loop the hand towel over the treadmill safety bar wondering which part of my body will need mopping first.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I start walking at a brisk clip. Edward seems to be stretching and getting the lay of the land, but soon, I discover his game. He waits till I get up to my full running speed and then casually sneaks over, taking careful readings of the instrumentation. He's scouting out my routine so that when he's in charge, he'll know exactly where my comfort zone lies. Then, no doubt, he'll push right through that and demand something more. A small part of me is tempted to hold something in reserve, but it would be a lie as egregious as not telling him about my transgression before our bondage scene the other night. I already see that holding back from Edward/The Dom is simply not an option.

"Is that all you got, Swan?" he challenges me.

"Right now, yeah," I puff out, wondering if this might be the year to make a resolution or two.

He smiles, "Okay." And he's off to the free weights area, where he's far enough away that I can't see any muscles flexing, yet within range for him to keep tabs on my whereabouts.

Probably not a coincidence, then, when he finishes his set exactly as I dismount. He flops down on the mat next to me as I start my crunches, matching me one for one before flipping over for push-ups. I've never been great at push-ups, but I slide into my plank pose and stretch while eyeing his graceful movements to my right.

"No squats?" he asks, as I make to exit the area.

"Nope," I answer more confidently than I feel.

"Hmm. They're great for your ass, you know."

"I thought you liked my ass," I lob back.

"Sure…now," he starts. "But, what about twenty, fifty years down the line?"

How does he even manage a straight face? "Somehow, I think when I'm 85, my saggy ass will be the least of my worries."

Hmmm, and will you be there to see it?

HE
Isabella moves gracefully around the gym, catching the eye of every guy in the place. I'm not even sure she's aware, so concerned is she about what I'm observing. Smart girl, my princess. Fact is, she's in fantastic shape already, and I wouldn't change a muscle. But endurance can always be improved, and she'll certainly need her "A game" as we ramp up our playtimes.

Besides, the role of taskmaster isn't the same as personal trainer. The exercises are a means to an end, the end being one hot, sticky mess of a girl doing everything in her power to please her Master.

My gaze shifts to the chin-up bar and I wonder, How long could she hang? What about standing on tiptoe? Has she noticed the bar in the doorway to my study?

And I'm hard. Not the most convenient condition at the gym, but my suffering is worth the imagery journeying across my mind right now. Not to mention, there's not a single thing wrong with the live girl stretching by my side. She rolls to her back and reaches over her head luxuriously along the mat, locking one hand around the opposite wrist and lengthening her torso. I have an insane urge to lick the sliver of flat belly that peeks out as her top slides upward. Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling, but I'm certain she feels my heated gaze.

Fuuuuuck, it's going to be a long day for my eager penis.

I pop up and step one foot over her torso, straddling her hips. "Need a hand?" I offer helpfully.

Her smile gives her away before her eyes can no longer ignore me. She loves what she's doing to me, the little vixen.

"Sure, my hamstrings are a little tight."

Taking my cue, I move to her feet and she lifts her right leg to my hand. I work her ankle slowly up to my shoulder, pressing with gentle resistance. Remember this position, princess? I might be leering just a bit.

With a decidedly unprofessional caress of her calf, I return her foot to the floor and repeat on the other side.

"Anything else I can do to help?" I ask, rubbing my hands together in anticipation of…anything.

She giggles and waggles her fingers above her head. I jump to the opposite end of the mat and gleefully pin her wrists to the floor.

"Hey!" she complains, "I thought you were going to stretch me."

"Sorry, baby. That's like dropping a bucketful of bloody chunks of flesh over a hungry shark's head and telling him not to eat."

"Hmm, so I'm the bloody chunks of flesh in this story? Nice."

"Fine. Let Jaws give you a stretch.” I give her some productive resistance, but I can’t waste the opportunity to lean over so my lips are right next to her ear and say, "Your tits look so delicious right now, it is taking all my might not to reach over and bite right through that excuse of a top you're barely wearing."

Her eyes widen with a flash of arousal, and I nip at her earlobe. God, we really have to get off the floor and get upstairs. I release her hands and murmur, "You about done here, princess?"

She nods silently and I reach a hand to pull her off the mat. And into my sweaty body.

"Up. Stairs. Now!".

she
Yes, Sir! Unfff!

The only thing between us and hot, sweaty sex is the elevator ride. If there's a more effective buzzkill than elevator music in a quaint country inn, it would have to be the couple with the innocent young children riding up with us.

Edward holds the door open while I squeeze in. The passengers take one look at our attire and one sniff in our direction and give us as wide a berth as possible. I'm jammed in against the back corner and Edward slides in along the side wall perpendicular to me. He rests his hands behind him on the metal bar and props up his foot against the wood veneer paneling. His eyes never leave my chest.

All I can think of is a shark tearing into me, and I'm pretty sure that's where his mind has stalled as well. His gym shorts do very little to hide his interest, and as usual, he seems to not care one freaking iota.

The doors open on our floor and he gestures me to pass first, placing his palm firmly on my ass as I do. He's already retrieved his key card so there's no delay when we reach the door. He ushers me through from close behind and kicks the door shut. His hands are at my waist before I can take two steps.

"Off!" he commands, tugging at my top, and I lift my arms obediently.

We are so not going to make it to the bedroom. Or the shower.

He takes me in a bear hug from behind, capturing one breast in each hand and squeezing them roughly. Edward's not just worked out. He is worked up. 

He pushes us forward with some kind of mad momentum, toward the big picture window that looks out onto the ocean. I feel every solid inch of him against my thin shorts. His breath is hot and quick along the back of my neck, and the hard surface of his teeth slides along my skin.

His hands move down my arms until he's covering my hands with his. With a low grunt as his only communication, he sets my palms against the window, spread apart and raised over my head. Pressing firmly, he makes his wishes known. Stay.

I scan the vista anxiously to see if we're likely to be discovered. Something tells me Edward wouldn't give a fig, but I couldn't say the same.

It's broad daylight, and we're only five floors up. There are several clumps of walkers but they're up the beach a good distance. Anxiety recedes and I'm ramped up even higher than before with the thrill of potential discovery.

Edward presses his hand against my back, nudging my tits against the window.

"Ah!" I snap back from the cold glass. His hand insists, forcing me forward again and holding me there. I can only imagine the visual from the outside; large white circles flattened around the smaller darker areolae, with tiny pink bull's-eyes anchoring the center.

"Cold! Cold! Cold!"

"Shhhhh," he implores, dropping his head to my shoulder and soothing me with kisses. "You're so fucking hot like this, baby. Stay…for me?"

I master my reflex to pull away, and I give him a slight nod when I've won the struggle.

"That's my girl," he says, leaving one last kiss before standing back to admire his work. Me. Against the window.

I detect the rustling of hasty clothing removal, and soon his hands are on me once again, sliding his thumbs between my body and the glass so he can feel for himself the compression he's created. He's a constant stream of whispered obscenities as he rips off my shorts and coaxes my thighs apart. One hand reaches under to relieve some of the pressure that's been building all morning.

"So fucking slippery," he mutters, squeezing my ass with the other hand. His palm rubs against me rhythmically, drawing out all that I'd been holding back. "God you are such a dirty girl! Look how horny you are…humping my hand in broad daylight for all the world to see! What would you do if that guy down there turned around and looked up at you, huh? Could you stop? No… you'd just keep on grinding your greedy pussy against my hand till I got you off, wouldn't you? Come on, you sweaty, horny girl. Let me see you come! Show all those people down there how you give it up for me!"

My head feels like it might explode. The endorphin rush on top of his relentless teasing all morning on top of the kinky little impromptu scene leaves me short on rational thought. The silent scream starts where he's touching me and rips through my chest, sucking the oxygen from my lungs. I'm dizzy and giddy and really fucking loud when I come shamelessly on his hand.

His lips squash against mine as I struggle for air. He's trying to kill me, I'm sure of it.

"Breathe, baby," he urges, smiling against my cheek.

HE
I give her all of thirty seconds before I can't take it anymore. Pulling her hips back so I don't send her plummeting through the window, I plunge inside her until my thighs meet her ass with a loud smack.

I don't quite know what's gotten into me this morning; exercise usually relaxes me, but today's workout seems to have had the exact opposite effect. Could it be the naked beauty at the business end of your penis that you're planning to collar later tonight?

Thanks for reminding me…just what I needed, another testosterone rush. I scan the beach once more for witnesses, and finding none, I thrust and grind with abandon. Isabella offers herself enthusiastically, meeting me stroke for stroke.

"This is gonna be fast, princess. Hang on."

She groans in response. I switch to shallow, quick strokes, our noises mixing in the air with the smell of sex and sweat and raw animal need.

The pressure builds like an elusive sneeze finally rising to the surface. With the most delicious agony, I surrender to the urge to let go and step into the abyss.

I smooth my hand down her back as I pull out and wad up my tee-shirt between her legs. Her arms are folded against the window and she's laid out horizontally like a saw-horse.

"You better come away from the window now," I caution. "That family's getting pretty close."

"I don't think I can move," she answers.

"Well you better," I warn, "Unless you're prepared to go another round right here and now."

She twists her neck around to roll her eyes. "I definitely can't do that," she informs me.

I chuckle and help her straighten up. "Come on, sweetheart, let's get you into the shower."

Isabella allows me to lead her by the hand into the bathroom. She disappears into the little toilet room and shuts the door. Enjoy it while you can, little one, I snigger inwardly. I set the water temperature to slightly hotter than normal so we can ease our sore muscles. By the time I've unwrapped the sea sponge and opened the soaps and gels, she's ready.

"After you, Madamemoiselle," I offer, waving her through the open glass door.

"Really? Together?" she asks.

"Sure. Why not?"

"I don't know," she says vaguely. "Just…you know what they say about familiarity."

"What's the matter, honey? You afraid we're gonna lose our edge if you watch me wash my balls?"

"Ick. And…no." She crosses her arms in a little pout I can't quite figure out.

I shrug my shoulders. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm not getting it. Can you connect the dots for me, please?"

She spins to the sink and retrieves a few items from her toiletry bag. Returning to me, she holds open her hands: razor, shampoo, conditioner, body scrub. Okay, nothing out of the ordinary here, no indications of anything sketchy.

I'm trying, really trying, but I don't see it. "So?"

"My mom always taught me there should be some mystery. All this maintenance stuff…it's…'familiarity breeds...'"

"The opposite of contempt." I finish her sentence for her.

She looks up, puzzled. "It does?"

"Mmhmm," I assure her. "Come on. I'm gonna show you." I push open the door again. She walks past me tentatively and deposits her equipment on the corner shelf.

she
I don't doubt Edward's ability to turn the mundane into fuckhawt, but there is a lick of worry around the edges of this new frontier. How do I know he'll still look at me in that sex-crazed way after he's watched me shave my legs or put on make-up?

I suppose my worries are irrelevant; Edward knows what he wants, and he usually has a damn good reason for wanting it. This isn't a scene and I fully realize I'm not compelled to obey, but making a fuss over shaving my armpits doesn't seem worth a conflict.

Ever vigilant of my emotions, he senses my unease. Wordlessly, he squeezes a dollop of shower gel onto the sponge and pulls me under the shower head. With a soothing circular motion, he works the gel over my skin, cleansing and relaxing me at once. Okay, this isn't so bad after all…whooopsie! The sponge slides between my ass cheeks on its way to my legs. He doesn't linger, bless his dominant heart.

He drops to one knee to soap up my toes, ankles, and calves, then stands again.

"Other side," he instructs sweetly, laughing at my scrunched up face as the water hits it. He cleans me everywhere, holding out each arm to get all the crevices underneath and swirling conscientiously around each breast so as not to miss a spot.

He trades in the sponge for the shampoo bottle and spins me around again so my back is facing him. It takes him three trips to the bottle to work up a lather. "Wow, you have a lot of hair!"

"Tell me about it," I answer, pleased that he at least can appreciate part of my grooming routine.

His fingertips scratch at my scalp and lull me into a deep relaxation. When he says, "Step back and rinse," I feel the same bittersweet loss as, "Scene's over." This cloud does have a silver lining, however; it's my turn to reciprocate.

"Okay, big boy, your turn."

"Not quite," he says, reaching for my razor.

"Oh, thanks," I say, putting out my palm.

He shakes his head no. No? No?

"You mean…?"

He grins and nods. Yes.

"Have a seat, fair princess." 

I narrow my eyes so he knows I'm serious here. "Have you done this before?"

"Yes," he says, his voice sounding gravelly all of a sudden. Oh great.

"Ever cut anyone?"

His face twists and he says, "Not by accident."

Terrified now, I ask, "You're not going to cut me, are you?"

He holds out his hands in surrender. "Of course not, Isabella. Now sit down and give me your foot."

With my eyes holding his warily, I do as he's asked-slash-told, and he anchors my foot on his thigh.

As nervous as I am, it doesn't escape me that my beautiful man, for lack of the proper label, is standing under the shower, dripping wet, muscles glistening. His post-coital yet fully attentive penis hangs heavy between his legs. It strikes me as odd that I find him at his most masculine as he prepares my leg with gel and readies the razor at my knee.

He's not the slightest bit tentative as he glides the blade from knee to ankle, over and over, turning my leg as necessary to expose the next patch requiring attention. Shit, he is way better at this than I am, navigating the bulbous knob at the ankle with ease and skill. He doesn't look up once from his task until he runs both hands down my leg and satisfies himself that he's gotten every last hair. Oh, I pity the stubble that tries to elude him.

His eyes finally meet mine as he slides foot number one to the floor and holds his hand out expectantly for number two. I'm doing pretty well, in fact, until he says, "Okay, stand up," and reaches again for the gel.

Say what now?

"Arms up, sweetheart." He moves behind me, and I comply , but I can't describe my attitude as keen.

"Don't. Move." He pulls the skin in the hollow of my underarm, applies the gel, and runs the razor down in three efficient strokes. "Perfect," he says, upon assessing his work with a swipe of his thumb. Same thing on the other side.

"And now…for the trifecta." He smiles mischievously, but not unkindly. I already know I have no chance at resisting him.

I roll my eyes. "Just get it over with already."

"I thought you'd never ask," he jokes. Then, in his sexiest voice, he says, "Spread your legs for me so I can see what I'm doing."

He starts behind me, and the moment the razor touches my skin, I send my thoughts to a place far, far away from this shower. I barely feel the rhythmic scraping, putting myself completely in his apparently capable hands. He finishes in a crouch before me, and when he runs an evaluative finger around the inner edges of my lips and concludes, "You're all done," I finally let out the deep breath I'd been holding.

"What do you think, Isabella?" he asks eagerly.

I trace my fingertip where his has just been, expecting the tiny stubble that I can never seem to be rid of. Until now, apparently. I'm smooth as a baby's bottom, and I don't have a single nick to show for it.

"I think you're in the wrong field. You should consider opening your own salon."

His laughter echoes around the tiled walls. "Because it's always a good idea to put sharp implements into the hands of a sadist."

I shrug, "Just sayin'. Best shave I've ever had."

"Hmmm, ever get waxed?"

"No, too embarrassing and scary," I answer too quickly. And there's the fucking grin. He's not…oh fuck, he is.

"Now it's my turn," he says, handing me the shower gel he prefers. I place my palm out for the razor. His eyes grow wide. I try my best to keep a straight face, but fail miserably.

HE
"You should see your face right now," she teases, dissolving completely into a pile of giggles.

"Get to work, Swan. You’re the one who got me all dirty."

Isabella works that sponge and finds every crevice and body cavity. She's delicate but thorough. In the end, I'm torn which part was better, when she was on her knees caring for my feet, or when she tossed the sponge aside and massaged my back and neck. Both scenarios make for lovely fantasy, experiences to be repeated.

I deftly handle my own body hair removal, while she watches, fascinated.

"Wow. Isn't that scary?"

"Not anymore," I answer, keeping focused on the mountainous terrain.

"Do other men ever…you know…look at you funny in the locker room?"

I pause to take in her adorable expression, then return to my handiwork with a hearty chuckle. "They look, sure. But I think it's more like envy."

She snorts, "Pffft! Full of yourself much?"

"I wasn't referring to the superiority of my penis, though there is that," I lob back. "I meant a guy doesn't normally shave like this just so he can beat off. It indicates a partner is most likely in the picture."

"Ahhh," she answers, enlightened. "So you're doing that for me?"

"Mostly, yes, because a mouthful of pubic hair is just nasty. But also, everything feels more intense for me this way. Don't you have the same experience?" I finish up the swath of skin behind my balls and rinse out the razor.

"Yes, but I also just like the way it looks a whole lot better."

"Agreed. So, tell me, Isabella," I say, holding out my newly coiffed penis, "Has it lost its allure now that you've watched me shave?"

"Uh...no."

"I rest my case." I twist off the faucets. "How long does it take you to dry your hair?"

"About twenty minutes."

"Can you speed it up? I'm pretty starved."


She shakes her head. "So what else is new?"

10 comments:

  1. I never could gel w/ the sound track/s people seem to have w/ their stories, but w/ this one I get this one song that won't shut up.
    Nature of the Beast by My Darkest Days

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  2. yes yes and yesss in front of that window!!!!!

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  3. Good morning Born, I hope all is well with you. What a hot fucking chapter. {And the way he watched as I pulled my hair into a ponytail, as if he were memorizing each motion…how hot is it to be so thoroughly desired and so utterly known?

    The thin scrap of lycra between my legs won't hold me if this keeps up. I loop the hand towel over the treadmill safety bar wondering which part of my body will need mopping first} If my husband stared at me like that when I worked out we could bounce a quarter off of my ass. LMAO. Oh and she should probably be careful, those shorts might cause chaffing. ;)

    {But endurance can always be improved, and she'll certainly need her "A game" as we ramp up our playtimes.

    Besides, the role of taskmaster isn't the same as personal trainer. The exercises are a means to an end, the end being one hot, sticky mess of a girl doing everything in her power to please her Master.

    My eyes click to the chin-up bar and I wonder, How long could she hang? What about standing on tiptoe? Has she noticed the bar in the doorway to my study?} Oh good god. That will be hot when you cover that. LOL. I'm also betting at some point he makes her do squats. It will be some form of foreplay.

    { I scan the vista anxiously to see if we're likely to be discovered. Something tells me Edward wouldn't give a fig, but I couldn't say the same.} She can keep telling herself that but even I have reached the fact that she gets off even more on the thought that someone might see her. Well, maybe not the young family that just shared the elevator with them. LOL. But still. I also have to say, not big on window sex because frankly after The Office it was WAY over used but this, this was hotter than hell and thank fuck no buttons went flying.

    What is her deal with the bathroom? I think I blame her mom. Well, I think she does to. It's amazing the things we do to damage our kids. LOL. Like I told my daughter not to give out blowjobs unless jewelry was involved. Thank god I told her to only do it for diamonds and platinum. Her last boyfriend gave her a wooden prayer bead bracelet. I'm betting he worked that bracelet over before he gave it to her. LMAO. Anyway there is nothing sexier than someone shaving their significant other....{ He's not the slightest bit tentative as he glides the blade from knee to ankle, over and over, turning my leg as necessary to expose the next patch requiring attention. Shit, he is way better at this than I am, navigating the bulbous knob at the ankle with ease and skill. He doesn't look up once from his task until he runs both hands down my leg and satisfies himself that he's gotten every last hair. Oh, I pity the stubble that tries to elude him.

    His eyes finally click to mine as he slides foot number one to the floor and holds his hand out expectantly for number two. I'm doing pretty well, in fact, until he says, "Okay, stand up," and reaches again for the gel.} I'm pretty sure that cured Bella's bathroom hang-up.

    I can't wait to see what he has in store for playtime. Thank you for sharing your wonderful story with us. I hope you have a fabulous day today. Take care and peace. T.

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    1. So happy you enjoyed their workouts! And lol on the flying buttons! I have to say window sex is really scary in RL, especially when one is 35 flights about the Las Vegas skyline! But cool glass is so much sexier than a plastered wall!

      And why not on the gym stuff? Get that man's eyeballs on ya,woman!
      xoxo

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  4. I wrote a comment after I read this and it disappeared. Oh yeah, this is the workout chapter with the shaving in the shower after. Very erotic! My loved shaves me sometimes and It drives me wild!

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    1. REALLY? I don't know if I could be that brave as to trust mine with a sharp blade! GOOD FOR YOU!
      xx

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  5. So, if Edward has never cut anyone "by accident," I have to wonder whether or not he checked off blood play as a hard limit!

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