The communal bathing rooms in the Chateau are fairly primitive by modern standards, yet they have served the Count well over time. He had done his best to accommodate those ladies who chose to use them, providing a man servant to assist them across the courtyard in wet weather, helping them cross the slippery stones, to prevent them slipping in the April showers that so affected the climate of that region.
You enter them via a broad arched ante-room that acts as a place to catch the cool drafts that might otherwise have the ladies shivering, were their gentle forms exposed. Cross the marble slabs that form the paving. It is a dark stone interlaced with mottled white flecks. Then, you will find yourself in a large area, surrounded by giggling serving maids, offering you towels and reaching eagerly to divest you of your garments and to touch the revealed flesh.
A stern frown will halt their otherwise ceaseless chatter and make them focus on the job in hand. They can disrobe a lord or lady most effectively in the discrete fashion that they have been trained, given a strict order. As you are undressed you will observe a giant mirror covering the best part of one wall--from hip level, up to a height of about 6 feet. It has three plain copper sinks in front of it, and faces a long silken curtain that encloses the bathing area adjacent to the opposite wall.
Today the bathing area is empty, save for the Count showering, the shower linen curtain immodestly half drawn, perhaps awaiting some sultry wench to pleasure, his limbs fiery with expectation. And then, there she was, entering, wearing her bathing robe, and walking just so, waving her long hair from side to side in time to the sway of her long, womanly legs, followed by the awed whispering of the several serving wenches.
She paused at one of the sinks and he could see her gaze slighly up at the mirror, making sure that she did not quite catch his eye. Nonchalantly, he watched the mirror for any interesting revelation, letting the curtain flap around in the water to expose discrete parts of his body. He didn't know why he did that - to titillate her perhaps or to excite further delicious giggles from the wenches, as they brought their hands to their mouths to stiffle their lubricious desires and bite their sweet maidenly palms? If she were to throw the curtain open, and expose his entire naked body, would he hide his eyes, blushing under her inscrutible gaze or would he challenge her with a glare, threatening dire punishments soundlessly, hearing her future screams in the silent outpouring of wrath?
She eventually installed herself adjacent to the Count and he heard her slide out of her bathing robe. He saw a slender arm reach up to hang it on a hook. Then, there was the sound of another sliding curtain, and the water began. Well, of course, there she was in his imagination, looking like a water nymph in the forest falls, there, with her long hair soaking and laying on her shoulders, and small rivulets of water running down her olive skin. He imagined her winsome smile as she beckoned the Count in. Her flattened breasts and tight brown nipples, pressing towards him as she held her hand out to him. The steaming water would still be pouring onto her, as she brushed her wet hair back behind her ears. Then she might tilt her head up towards the Count, eyes closed and lips parted invitingly. She would watch the Count smile as their eyes met. He would bend over to kiss her on the mouth as her hand reached out for him......
.......his eyes opened and there she was, looking at the Count. Alone now, all servants dismissed in a thin wail of laughter, giggles and chatter coming from the seemingly-so-distant-now anteroom. He stepped back, feeling out-manoeuvred. She held out her fingers. The water slid between them, dotting the space between her breasts. Her nipples rose as the cool shower water hit her skin. She turned her fingers over and let the water drip onto the blob of shower gel in her hand. She pushed her chest out to let more water pour onto her. The liquid tried to escape down across her belly, but she corralled it, spreading it across her breasts, rubbing it into her skin while he watched, speechless. She stepped towards him then, leaving a dripping tail across the floor. He had little time to observe this as she pushed him against the wall, tracing a line down his chest with her fingernail.
"You watched me, MiLord, when I got into the shower. You will have listened as I disrobed. And your body bears testament to your thoughts, Sirrah,” she lowered her eyes modestly, pausing for effect to draw a silent gasp from his mouth.
“There must be something you liked, Sirrah?" She bit her lip, chastely, innocently, teasingly, wickedly.
He swallowed. His eyelids fluttered and he locked onto her eyes, so she could read his pleasure. His jaw hung open. She smiled to herself. She leant in towards the Count, and his back was up against the cold tiled wall. Her breastbone pressed against his bare chest, and he could feel the hard tips of her nipples pressing into his skin. Once again, she tilted her head up towards the Count, her eyes closed, and her lips barely parted.
"Is there something you want of me, Sire?"
This time, he lowered his mouth onto hers. She had a sweet tasting mouth, lapping at his lips. She did not try to devour him, but she was thorough. Her tongue intruded gently into every part of the Count's mouth. He held her as the warm water washed over them, kissing and enjoying the face-to-face contact. She didn't put her arms around his neck like a lot of women do. Instead, she caressed his shoulders and chest, and played with his nipples. He responded in kind rolling his fingers over the little brown circles, squeezing her small breasts in his hands.
He took a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and asked her between kisses, "Do you like pinches?"
She breathed the answer into his mouth, so softly that he could barely hear her, "You know I do."
And he pinched her, perhaps a little harder than he normally would have.
"Yessss..," she winced and moaned into his mouth, as she pressed herself harder against him, rubbing her thigh against his. After shampooing each other, soaping escalated into slow foreplay. He held her back against his chest. She pressed her palm flat against her chest and rubbed herself, spreading and closing her fingers until the soapy water squished out between them.
Only then did she finally slide her hand round behind her to take hold of his trembling member. Her hand closed around the Count, protecting him? Taking him? Her hand turned back and forth, as if she was polishing. Water ran across the back of her hand, through her spread fingers, getting lost, streaming rivulets in a forest of hair.
She smiled to herself as she felt the Count harden. He removed the copper showerhead from its holder where it had rained down on them and switched it to the setting for a concentrated, pulsing spray. He moved the hard/soft sputtering stream of water over her shoulders, breasts, stomach, thighs, tickling, sensual, wet and warm. She moved her hand over the Count, guiding the pulsing spray where she wanted it.
With a jerk of her head she indicated how she wished him to serve her, spraying the insides of her thighs. Then onto her hips and then back up. He moved his mouth around to suck and nibble on her ear lobe and brought one hand up to caress her breast. They moved the spray down toward her mound. Up and down the insides of her thighs, they fought playfully. He was trying to move the spray directly onto her. She sought to tease herself a little more - the age old battle of the sexes.
She surrendered with a sudden gasp and permitted him to bring his hand and the spray against her privacy. Sharp pulsing water parted the matted thatch and then drove the lips beneath apart. She stiffened and bit her lip as the first jets rebounded off the aching nub of her sex . He used the shower head as a toy, thrusting it against her wet soapy body. She tried to oblige him to use the pulsing spray to trace a line, aiming to concentrate the rivulets near, but not always on the hardening nub. She was squirming against the Count as he played with her emotions. She desperately tried to keep the pounding spray just on the spot...
"Right there, keep it right there..." she squealed as she came, almost losing her footing and pushing the Count back against the wet tile wall. She stiffened as he bit her shoulder and he dropped the shower head to the floor. He was drenched, and furiously, passionately aroused by then. The shower was still thundering at their feet in the background, filling the confined area with steam. Their bodies were lobster red.
Recovering, she licked the beads of warm water from his chest, and his stomach. Then she worked her way slowly and teasingly downwards, until she was kneeling in front of the Count, her face towards his waist. She put a fingertip on his belly and kissed him on the stomach. He made a small, agonised sound in his throat as the wet lips gently caressed his ardour. She licked and lapped at him in small motions - starting at the head, and making her way slowly, warmly, gently downwards along the shaft of his erect desire.
Mouth open wide, she began to engulf him, inch by softly agonising inch. He was getting weak in the knees by this time--if he hadn't leant back against a wall, he probably would have fallen down. His legs trembled and he gritted his teeth in vivid concentration. He shuddered and groaned as she began to bob her head ... up and down, up and down, sucking and teasing until she was rewarded with a different viscous warmth. He slumped down to the floor, then, his legs no longer able to hold up. He ended up sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. She crawled up against him, and tucked herself under his arm.
"Men, Milord, are so wonderfully predictable,” she whispered in his ear, her words all but drowned out by the furious pumping of his heart. He closed his eyes, and tried to think of something to say. His head was still swimming. He couldn't seem to line up even half of a coherent thought. He just kept seeing visions of the past few moments. He shook his head, but that thought wouldn't go away. She put her arms around his neck and he pulled her against himself and squeezed her hard, as together they listened as the water ran over their bodies and down into the drain.
He reached up to turn the water off and pulled her up with him, burying his face in her freshly washed hair. He smelt the fruity-whatever-it-was scent of the shampoo and reminded himself of his good fortune. He kissed her shoulder as he continued to run his palm up and down the length of her back, slowly over her shoulders and then back down, but not yet touching her. He could not quite tell exactly when she looked up at the Count, and he could not see the smile that spread across her face soon after, but he did get to hear the "Mmmmm!" she uttered just afterward. He whispered, "Stand still, Milady"
She smirked mischievously as she stopped running her hands, up and down her thighs. Holding her parted legs still as her slender fingers slowed to a halt over her glistening mound, she no longer softly rubbed at her coral nether lips. He placed his palm on her shoulder and very softly, very slowly ran his flat palm over her shoulders, then again. Then slowly, down the ridges of her back, his fingers running along her spine. His hands. Strong, but soft. Large, but not ungainly.
"Talked me into it, Sire," she giggled, almost into his chest, as he began to run his hand over and over her back - smoothing, caressing, warming. He bent over to nudge her long wet hair away from her neck and then kissed the back of her neck just as his hand moved onto her. He moved his hand over her several times and then returned to her back, moving completely over the length of her back and then to her bottom again. With one finger he traced the inside of her thighs. She squirmed and separated her legs to encourage the Count's progress. His hand returned to her, rubbing the soft skin of her cheeks in a slow circle. He watched as she shivered , and a wave of goosebumps spread across her flesh, only to subside again.
With two fingers he began to trace the valley at the base of her spine until he felt her sex. Circling first one cheek and then the other, he always returned where he had started. As his hand followed her curve he would slow and reverse and knead her resting muscle. He heard her sigh. At the end of one sliding traverse of her bottom, his hand stopped and began to creep further on, rubbing in tight little circles. He pressed firmly against her, alternating with a back and forth that found her most sensitive places. He felt her twitch, hips moving against her Lord, the Count.
His fingers traced and opened her. Inside she was wet all over, and his finger slid easily into her, and out again, and forward, and back, and in again. As his fingers explored her , he watched the muscles of her back tense and relax, following the rhythm of his penetration of her interior, the excitation of her sex. He could see the pulses dancing in her jugular as it paralleled the taut tendon of her throat. Finger covered with her secretions, he turned endless circles around the jutting flesh. Her twitching intensified as a middle finger slid between the soft folds, and dipped into her. He observed the excitement in her movements and her need. Above the dampness he could smell the musky perfumed of her delicate, femininity
He reached down to kiss her hand. He sucked upon her finger, nibbling gently. Her breasts heaved with the most exquisite sensations. He looked with love as she wrinkled her nose and allowed her eyes to glaze over with pleasure. Her mouth was contorted into a grimace of sheer pleasure. He observed her hands ball into tight fists. Her breath came in a series of staccato gasps, little animal sounds echoing around the empty shower room.
She leant against him and he watched the tension drain away from her. He began to think that she had fallen asleep when she looked up again, brushing the damp strands of hair away from her eyes. She smiled a lazy smile at the Count and then licked her lips, content as the cat with the proverbial cream.
"Hope you're proud of yourself, milord. Making a lady squirm first thing in the morning.”
He grinned sheepishly and bowed in mock servitude.
"There are of course other ways of making you squirm, my dear. Others ways that might make you quite proud of the Count, Milady?"
"How about breakfast in bed - my bed?” She emphasized her words by cupping her own breasts, stroking the fabric of long neglected bathing robe, lifting it down to cover her stiffened nipples that poked enticingly through the thin garment.
"Does that mean I have to send out servants to get croissants from the castle bakery?"
"Well they would be a good follow on from the creamy starters that have crossed my palate this morning,” she giggled. Then she looked at him mischievously reaching up to prevent him from clapping for assistance. “Or should I have a second course first...”
...and so saying, she brushed a teasing hand against his thigh and reached up to turn the brass taps a half turn to set the warm liquid flowing again. He groaned and, was allowed a very few moments, before surrender, to consider how the climate of his most intimate regions was being affected by her new enthusiasm for April showers.
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Click on the image to indulge your whims further