tagFetishDrying Out

Drying Out

bySpar©

He watched passively from the corner as she, recumbent in their over-sized king bed, read. The glow in the room was an interesting contrast of candlelight escaping through the carved pattern of her own thrown clay pot and the low-intensity of a 60 watt bedside lamp. As was his responsibility, he had prepared the bed: fluffing pillows; turning down the bedspread; adjusting the lighting; and warming the sheets, while she soaked in the tub.

When he had completed the nightly preparations which always occurred prior to their retiring, he stepped back into the bathroom he left just twenty minutes earlier. When last in this room he'd drawn her bath. This included selecting fragrant bath oil he thought would fit her mood, putting soft instrumental music in the CD player, and laying out a large and a medium-sized towel on the vanity counter alongside the tub. She'd walked into the bathroom while he was preparing her bath. Seeing her in the mirror behind, he turn and without a word he undress her, carefully folding and stacking each item of her clothes one upon the other. Once naked, she stepped into the perfectly hot water, squatted down and closed her eyes. Watching her, he sighed, turned and moved away to the bedroom.

Now back, he quietly coughed. She opened her eyes, looked into his without a word, rose and stepped from the tub to stop inches from him. While her eyes commandingly held his, he reached his arm out to grasp the smaller of the two towels. With delicate care he blotted her face with the towel, never allowing for the slightest rubbing action. When every trace of water and perspiration was gone from her face, he laid the towel back down on the vanity and picked up a jar of rich face cream. His middle finger pressed deep into the pure white ointment, he withdrew a dollop from the jar and applied a small amount to her forehead, each cheek, and her chin. She closed her eyes. The finger tips of both his hands moved to her forehead and he slowly, in tiny clock-wise circles, rubbed the ointment into her skin. She breathed out deeply through her nose and her knees bent slightly. He felt her body warm with pleasure.

Once completing her forehead, he reached his left arm and hand around her waist and his palm came to rest in the small of her back. He began to spread the ointment on her right cheek across the ridge of bone beneath her eye, toward her ear. He accomplished this with the soft pad of his thumb, tenderly stroking the flesh of her inner ear as he completed each stroke. At the completion of each stroke she shuddered slightly but said nothing. He repeated the process on the left side of her face.

She opened her eyes briefly and her eyes drilled into his, as both his thumbs pressed side-by-side into the creamy ointment on her chin. As her eyes closed, he glanced quickly at her wet breasts and smiled in the evidence they provided of her enjoyment. Her nipples were puckered with the texture of a large raisin. He worked around her chin in small, tight circles. Finally, quietly, he drew his thumbs down the length of her long, smooth neck, dropped his hands and reached for the large bath towel. Eyes closed, she stood in place and swayed slightly at the hips.

As he knelt before her, nothing was said, but she spread her legs shoulder-width apart. He wrapped the towel around her left ankle and reached with his right hand to caress the back of her left calf. Expertly he brought her left foot forward to rest high on his right thigh. He carefully dried her left foot, deftly drawing the edge of the towel between each toe. With each stroke he drew the moisture from inside the tiny crease. He repeated the process with the right foot. Once both her feet were dry, he softly kissed each sole several times in various places. He bent low, his head almost touching the ground to do this. Then he worked the towel up the wet, glistening flesh of each of her legs. He applied just enough pressure that the blood raised to the surface and her skin took on a warm rosy hue. Knowing better, he stopped short of touching her vagina or ass.

He listened to her breathing and enjoyed the deep, but soft, rumble in her throat. He noticed the small muscles of her inner thigh twitch. He stood, then and drew the towel up along her left thigh, across the soft down of her pubis. She raised her arms over her head and he reached high to capture her upraised palm and fingertips in his, the towel between them like a glove. His eyes now locked on hers, she with riveting control, he drew the towel down the length of her right arm, into the soft hollow of her arm pit. He moved the towel around to her back, his circular motion across her back caused her right breast to brush across his chest. The nipple barely touched his curly chest hair. She looked sternly into his face and whispered almost inaudibly, "Careful, don't get yourself in trouble."

He smiled sheepishly, and repeated the process in drying the left side of her body, front and back. This time he was careful not to touch her in any way she might deem sexual. He knew he would have no second chances. Once that was completed, he stepped behind her to caress her hair in the folds of the towel. Several times, he grasped a large lock of hair and squeezed and pressed dry. He hoped that later he'd be given the chance to comb that fresh smelling hair.

Almost sensing his desire to play with her hair, she spoke, "Enough, I want to comb out my hair. You've made it a mess of tangles. How could you do that? You'll have to be punished. Go sit in the corner of the bedroom, naked. Do not touch yourself." He did as he was told.

It was a good twenty minutes before she came back into the room. He was hopeful when she walked over and told him to stand up. His cock grew hard in anticipation. She took him in her hand and provided three long, slow, strokes, moving the entire length of his shaft. She rotated her hand around the engorged head, and .... Stopped!

Telling him to sit back down, she walked over to the bed, picked out a book and began to read. Now he was left to watch her from the corner, to think about how great it was and what might have been.

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