Chapter Six
Coming Clean
Nell lays along him, panting hard, her trembling vagina squeezing his hard shaft seemingly in time to her pounding heart. "Oh my oh my oh my –!"
"Ohhhhhhh," he whispers when he can say anything at all.
"Yeah."
It's several more moments before he can whisper "Where did you learn that?"
"Like it?" He lets his answer to that silly question be a groan as he hugs her. Neither is inclined to move. "Takes a lot of daily practice, sort of a complete vaginal workout."
"When do you get time for that?" Their hours are often very long; no one leaves Ops unattended whenever an Agent is in the field.
"Every day in Ops."
"Wait, what?" he asks up into her smiling face. "You mean while we're sitting there you're …."
"Working out."
"So while I'm sitting there…?"
"You're very inspiring."
He can't quite think yet how to answer so she kisses him, and for quite a time he doesn't think about anything except the woman laying along his body like he's a surf board she wants to ride on a churning ocean. He's still hard inside her, he hadn't come, overcome by her cataclysmic orgasm, and he knows he's going to ache. He doesn't know why he hadn't, only knows that he will next time.
He shifts his hips, moves inside her and she groans. She also slowly pulls free of him.
"Want to take a shower?" she asks, much to his surprise.
Remembering that gush of hot cream flowing over him, down his sides and coating his raised back before he'd lowered them to the mattress "I just did."
But the distraction was enough, too much, and as much as he longs to he's not ready to get back in.
The sheet will have to be changed if they're to use the bed again, not that he cares where they do it so long as she doesn't call it quits. But the look in her eyes as she gets off him and sees his still long member shows she's in no mood to end this soon.
It takes him several tries to get off the bed and holding on to her makes walking easier.
He has very definite plans, first the shower, then he's held back long enough.
x
The squared shower is large enough for one, cleansing supplies on a multi-tier holder hanging from the left side. It's an old time metal rectangular booth four feet to a side yet neither has any objection to the tightness. He lets her reach in to adjust the temperature to her liking, then she takes from the holder a tiny bottle, drinks a portion and then they step in under the jet.
She faces the high nozzle so the water can cover her in front and back while he takes a moment to enjoy the view from behind her, the streams running over her back, bottom and down her legs. He gets her turned around so the spray runs down her back, backs her a half step so that it hits her shoulders and flows down both sides. He especially likes the way it runs over and off her firm nipples.
Satisfied they're both wet enough he pulls her toward him and she very willingly joins him as he bends low to her lips, the kiss flavored of mint, adding a special sensation with the almost hot water hitting and running along their bodies. She reaches up so her arms go around his neck and she turns him, maneuvers until the water is running over the back of his head. It's difficult to kiss when the flow comes from behind to his face but she breaks away, knowing there will be more to kiss later.
x
She reaches up to the side wall and pulls from the top holder a white bottle, lets him out from the spray so she can squeeze some white cream from the bottle onto her hand, replaces the bottle, strokes her hands together and then reaches up to his head.
The cream is silky as she moves it in and works it about his short blond hair and the scent of strawberry fills the shower. He remembers how often he's come into Ops to that scent and it suddenly comes to him that there are times she'd returned from lunch smelling more distinctly of it, much to his then lack of notice.
She has to stand very close to very slowly work the shampoo through his hair, so close her nipples brush his lower chest and diaphragm, takes a very long time reveling in the slow work, the expression on her kissable face showing her feeling as she so slowly, so sensually works the lather through his hair and about her fingers. Eric recalls he usually gives not quite a minute to this part and determines to remember this moment when he extends his time in the future.
She plays through his hair, trying to capture every wave, every nuance of his hair as she would sculpt the dry strands from memory, then delve in as though under the waves to lose her fingers and palms in the white foamy sculpture.
Her eyes are closed, her face tilted up to him, her lips slightly parted, her expression dreamy as she focuses on the silky lotion, his hair run about her fingers and the way her nipples touch his chest with their every breath. Her face is protected from the jet that hits his upper back but the deflected mist helps moisten her face, her lips so fresh and red he comes down and kisses them.
He can feel her contented hum on his lips, taste her minty breath in his mouth and opens for more. There's more mint on the tip of her tongue which slips forward to meet his and she comes out to lick each side of his tongue with the flavor.
She still works her fingers through his hair and he decides he's going to be as generous with time when it's his turn but for now he's not rushing anything. He likes the way her hands feel, he likes the way her nipples feel as she rubs them so gently, teasingly along his lower chest, brush his abdomen as though pretending not to notice it or what it's doing to him.
Down much lower is a very firm announcement of what it's doing, but he's content with however long she wants to spend.
x
She ends the stroking kiss to push him away, his head back under the jet, but as the lather runs down his chest "Ooo! Want!" Shoulders back, she presses to him, moves to catch every bubble of lather on her breasts, her hard nipples, moves against him in the effort to capture everything before it's gone in the warm flow.
"Darn it, no more," she says when the water runs clear down his body.
"Don't worry, there'll be more," he says, takes her shoulders and turns around so now the stream hits the top and back of her head, a wider stream than he had but doesn't go into her face. He takes the white bottle from the shelf. He squeezes out enough for her above the shoulder length hair and, being so tall he can look down upon her, begins to work the formula into her.
"Won't be the same," she faux pouts.
"Give me time," he says with deep assurance. "There'll be plenty of cream for you."
x
Catching her hair up, he works a sufficient lather from the strawberry mixture, now able to enjoy it to its fullest, then slows his ministrations to the sensual pace she'd used. The warm jet now hits him in upper back but the reflected mist is enough and he occasionally lets it bounce off his shoulder to keep her moist.
The easy, gentle touch is enough. He lets his fingers flow through her red locks, seek and find every strand to coat with the silky cream, now able to see the joy she'd felt in the act in the way his hands flow through her, his fingers explore every strand and he works sensual designs on her. Some of the mist bouncing off his shoulder catches the suds and starts a thin white line down the middle of her back; he watches it flow until it disappears along the crack between her cheeks. He concentrates on not letting any more get away - for now.
Head down to give him free reign, she nevertheless reaches up, her fingers searching for and finding another bottle which she brings down, opens and squeezes some of the contents onto her hands. She returns it as well as she can, reaches down before her and gently rubs the cream onto his still erect member.
He hadn't been expecting this and stops. "What's that?" he asks as she slowly rubs his long shaft.
"Moisturizer."
"Okay."
"And skin softener."
"You want it soft?"
She nods into his hands. "For now."
x
It's very difficult to concentrate on her hair with what her hands are doing. He does try but as her palms flow up and down him and cup and stroke his scrotum he finally has to stop, unable to do more with her head. She looks up, head still a white froth but her smile - and his sharp breath - tells what effect her long fingers and stroking palms have on him.
She goes slow, but the slower she goes the more intensely her touch drives into him. Her hands work in opposite directions up and down him, fingers each time cupping and seeking him, reaching all the way back under him to tickle the sensitive flesh behind. The touch is soft and gentle, she doesn't squeeze or work him but the lighter she strokes him the more he feels that touch all the way up to his hair.
She gently turns him so she can step into the jet of water, lets the wash clear the foam away but she never stops ministering to him.
"Neeeeeeee... Neeee..."
"Yes?" she whispers as, foam cleansed, she can devote her full attention to the handfuls of foam and what's withing it.
"You're driving me crazy."
"Just making sure you're still interested." She presses her moving palms more firmly, but in that moment he glimpses the bottle she's used.
"Condition... itioner?"
"Just making sure you're in condition for what comes next."
Now over the strawberry he can smell, wafting up, "Ap - apples?"
"I like apples."
She moves her hands in a new direction and he gives up trying to speak.
x
She turns him, uses her body at his side to block the stream against her back and he braces against the corner, shifts his hips forward and gives in to the sensations, learns to use what sounds he can make to guide her touches just as he's learned from her that ancient language that tells one partner what to do for the other. He doesn't think of time, about anything but her hands as he grows harder and harder under her touch until he's sure there must be more blood in that one spot than he has in his entire body, and still she doesn't stop, seeks his shaft and balls and the flesh behind and around, guided by sounds he can't stop making.
But they're growing, becoming sharp and harder and she moves her body aside so the jet of warm water can reach him, wash the white foam even as she continues her stroking, but her touch is much softer. The unexpected water hitting him breaks his concentration, changes the sensations and she, still bent over both working on him much more softly, looks back up at him with a smile.
"Not yet, Mr. Beale. You're not going off down a drain." She turns back down, gives his head a firm kiss and straightens up. "You're putting every drop in only one place." He doesn't need to look down to know nothing's coming out now or any time soon (enough) as the waterfall slaps on his softening flesh. She reaches out and cups his length, letting the water slap him and pool up in her palms as she holds his shaft upon one hand, his scrotum in the other, lets the pool enhance the sensations. "When it's clean, you can put it in that place."
x
"'When it's clean'..." He takes her shoulders and backs her the half step into the wall so the jets hit her in the middle of her chest, spread to cover both breasts as he takes that bottle of conditioner, pushes some out, replaces the bottle and rubs his hands, steps in front of the jet and his white hands come up to cup her breasts. He holds her up, revels in the weight and firmness and softness. His thumbs stroke her hard nipples and she gasps as they respond with increasing firmness.
He slowly moves his hands around and about her breasts, her every breath raising them to him and lowering them again into his hands. He goes even more slowly, revels in her and uses her soft moans as that guide, either using his thumbs to stroke over her nipples or his fingers to scissor catch them for his control, the hard points testament to her growing lust as she becomes louder by the moment.
He presses more firmly, catches her breasts in his hands and squeezes gently to her sounds, moves them sometimes softly, sometimes harder, and when he pinches her nipples she cries out, head thrown back but the faux pain reflected in her face is nothing of the kind. She breathes faster, more sharply, her tiny cries rising in pitch as he molds and gently squeezes her fullness.
Catching some of the white cream on her right hand she reaches again for him, coats him with the smooth cream but this time wraps her hand about him, runs her grip up and down him, calls back the sensations she'd cut off and more, working her fingers about him as their quickening cries rise.
He steps back, trembling, and the water hits her chest, washes off the white conditioner from body and hand. "Er-rik!"
"You were right. Not down a drain."
x
But then he kneels on his right knee before her; the three foot shower hadn't let him get far, and as the water hits her he watches it flow down her body and his eyes lock on the path it takes over her soft lips.
They are such a sight, half hidden between her closed legs but still reaching out as though needing, as though begging to be touched. He bends low, his eyes two inches before her. Less than a quarter inch separates her, just enough for the water to flow but eyes not to delve and he watches how the water moves over her mons veneris, past her hidden clitoris and over the closed lips to then flow down her legs. He watches, almost hypnotized, wishing to be every tiny droplet so he can flow over her forever.
"Eric?"
He reaches out and up, his fingertips interlaced into that quarter inch and slides his fingers along her thighs and to the fronts of her legs he communicates his desire, his need, better than words can. She doesn't answer except to move her right foot less than an inch and now, at the junction, he can see more clearly, follow the trail of that water along her soft closed lips to fall in a single line.
He can't pull his eyes from her, can barely breathe quietly. He imagines her tiny clitoris, that ultra-sensitive nub that's the center of every woman's … the word escapes him; joy, lust, ecstasy, he only knows he has to see it – and more.
x
He uses the same signal and this time she does step away from his fingers, her feet planted well apart and the flow caresses lips he can't rip his eyes from. A week since 'Woodland Couples Connect' but no matter what they've done this week it's like he's seeing her for the first time, her labia inches from his eyes. He tries to control his breath from the broken panting, tries to keep from diving upon her but can only do the one so he fights to keep still and to watch and enjoy.
Her breath, she's having as much trouble as he, moves her slightly but her lips inches from him are suddenly his whole world. He reaches out, the flow runs over his fingertips and changes path as he reaches, thumbs and forefingers gently close on her lips and he very slowly parts them, the flow changing with every nanometer of opening. A tiny cry breaks from her, so high up there, at his touch, at the way he opens her, at the way the water flows to slip in and wet more and more of her undoubtedly soaked flesh. He glances up, she's biting her finger but can't hold back the sounds and her body trembles but he immediately returns his attention, his stare, to that spot.
Bending lower, he looks in and she shifts her hips, lifts forward to give him a good view as the water he still wants to be slips in deeper and he pulls wider; quarter inch, half inch, three quarters and her cries turn to a sharp sob. He changes his hold, opens more and her flesh parts about her clitoris, gets out of the way so the water can flow unobstructed over it. He stares until he's sure his gaze is branded into her soft flesh, then he can't wait any longer.
He leans in and the flow stops. He glances up and her hands under her breasts, her fingers under to part the flow, direct the water outward to flow down either side of her. He goes in.
x
The first touch of his tongue on her clitoris tastes like the water but he knows that will change in a second or two as her natural cream coats everything, but in that second she gives a small scream and he can tell she's fighting to keep her hips still. He licks her, again as slowly, and she trembles from shoulders braced against the wall to her toes. He runs his tongue tip along her yearning clitoris and the scream is even sharper.
He'd love to get his tongue deep into her but that would involve changing his fingers opening her so he concentrates upon her sensitive nub, licks slow and fast, forward and back, side to side and about in reversing circles as her every breath is a sharp high cry within moans, sounds that only women can manage. Her breath is fragmented, her gasps broken by his tongue as he seeks new positions for it, new approaches onto it. He gets his lips around it and sucks it, licks the soft flesh that slips into his mouth.
Her hands now on his back, she's mewling and crying out and suddenly his mouth, his face, are filled with a gush hotter than the stream. He can't hold her labia safely against her writhing but throws his hands about her, grips her cheeks, clamps his mouth over her convulsing lips and drinks, sucks her cream from her as quickly as it can flow and she shrieks as he suctions her while, pinned by her shoulders to the shower wall, she screams and screams and screams.