In a Little While Ch. 02

bybarabajagal001©

"I'm sorry, but, it's very sweet of you to care. It's been a long time since anyone did, I forget how it feels." She continue studying him, silently. The kettle whistled, and she turned off the heat, letting the water cool a bit. "Fred, how long have you wanted to bed me?"

The question took him by surprise, but he answered truthfully, "Since the moment I met you. How did you know?"

Brushing aside his question as if it was unimportant, she asked, "Why have you never tried to?"

"I don't think I could afford you."

"You never even asked how much I charge," she said, incredulously. "Besides, how did you know I wouldn't want to have sex with you, for free? Just as people?"

"I suppose it never occurred to me that you would be interested in taking a busman's holiday," he said with a hint of amusement. She nodded, seeming to accept it, and took the kettle over to a large basin of warm water sitting on the floor. On the table next to it was a rough cloth, a bar of soap, a small knife, a white towel, and a small bottle filled with golden liquid. Marguerite picked up the bar of soap and shaved thin curls of it into a small pile at the table's edge.

"Do you want to?" Fred asked quietly.

Marguerite looked up at him with a dark expression in her eyes. "Perhaps." She paused. "I need to bathe, but I am still sore from the bruising. I wonder, since you are here, would you help me?"

Fred cleared his throat nervously. "Of course." She beckoned to him with a crook of her finger, and then turned around to present him with her back. There were about fifteen small fabric buttons that needed to be undone, and Fred undid them carefully. He pushed the dress off her smooth shoulders, and it fell to the floor. Marguerite stepped out of it, and Fred bent down to retrieve it, and place it over the back of a chair. When she turned around, he caught his breath.

"I've never seen anything like it," he gasped.

"A girl in my line of work has to look her best," she said. The other girls Fred had been with had all worn the same stiff, plain cotton undergarments as a result of war rationing. Even Mathilde had nothing but plain girdles and underwear. What Marguerite was wearing was something different entirely. Instead of the usual girdle, she wore a tight, boned corset that went only from her hipbones to just beneath her bust. It was black, silk mesh that showed her navel enticingly through the fabric. Her bra was a solid black satin, and matching bloomers were far shorter than any he had seen before. They shifted loosely over her hips, but did not quite cover her in the back, an inch of lace skimming over the soft curve where her buttocks met her thighs. The attached garter clips held up sheer black stockings than ran over her long, slim legs, and down into the green pumps she wore to match her dress.

He knelt behind her, grasped her hips, and nestled his face gently between her cheeks. He heard a soft laugh, and he slid his hands down to unclasp her garters. He drew one stocking down her leg, kissing along her upper thigh crease. He did the same with her other stocking, letting his fingertips touch her bare leg on the way down. He removed stockings and shoes, placing both on the chair. He stood to undo the clasps on her corset, letting it fall away from her body like a discarded second skin. Grasping her waist, he slid one hand around to cover her navel and drew her close to him. He nuzzled her neck, stroking her soft skin. She smelled lightly of roses.

He was getting impatient, and removed her bra and knickers without much ado, tossing them, too, onto the chair that held her other clothes. He gazed at her pretty backside, speckled with bruises both large and small. Her ass was slim, but rounded, with two tiny dimples at the top. He stood and walked around to see her front side, and saw that she had rather small breasts that sat high on her ribcage, and complemented her frame. What was most unique about her, however, was that she was completely smooth between the legs. In fact, it was the only place that she didn't have hair, her arms, legs, back, and stomach completely dusted with extremely fine blonde hairs. At the moment, it was one of the only parts of her that didn't bear any bruising either. She was even more beautiful than he had imagined.

He helped her to stand in the basin, and he took the rough cloth from the table and dipped it into the water, then rubbed it with some of the soap curls. He drew the cloth up her legs, her stomach, all the way up to her neck. He covered her body with tiny soap bubbles, and watched as gooseflesh broke out all over her skin. He drew the cloth over her breasts, and saw that her nipples puckered in the cool air. He gently scrubbed every inch of her body, paying particular attention to the soft hairless spot at her center. Then she knelt stiffly, and he brought cupped hands of warm water to rinse her off.

When she was rinsed clean, Fred bundled her in the towel, and dried her off. She started for the screen that divided her bed from the rest of the room, and threw a glance behind her.

"Would it be too much to ask for you to bring that bottle there to me?" Fred followed her behind the screen, the golden bottle in his hand. He was almost surprised to see that her bed was so plain. White cotton sheets with a simple white down comforter, two pillows. Marguerite lowered herself onto the bed, and motioned for the bottle.

"No, let me." Fred found that the bottle contained a thin oil smelling of roses. He drizzled it over her limbs and slicked it into her skin, enjoying the way the dim light glinted off the hairs on her legs. When he dripped the oil onto her breasts and rubbed it in, he felt her trembling beneath him. He bent to kiss each of her nipples. Suddenly, he felt that he should leave. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there, because he certainly did. Somehow it seemed sad to be lusting after someone who was so obviously injured, inside and out.

As if she sensed what he was feeling, Marguerite reached out and touched his jaw. She lifted her head up and kissed him, running her tongue along his lips. She pushed her lips against his hungrily, searching with her teeth and her tongue, seeking he knew not what. But his doubts had evaporated. He pressed his still-oily hand between her legs to find her already so wet. He felt his cock harden in his pants, but he knew it could wait. In a moment, he was between her legs, licking and nibbling gently on her soft skin. The scent of the rose oil was intoxicating, and her pussy tasted like sour cherries, the kind his mother baked into pies in mid-July back home. With the heat rising from her skin, and the taste of roses and cherry pie, it was like a summer's day in Chicago, and he felt so lonesome for home and yet so close to it at the same time. He heard her cry out above him once, twice, three times, and then it was a hundred times, and he felt like he'd been bringing her to orgasm after orgasm for hours, when he knew it must have only been about ten minutes.

When she finally pushed him away, there were tears in her eyes. She pulled him up for a deep kiss, and undid his pants, sliding his cock into her mouth hurriedly, as if she were desperate to repay the favor. Fred groaned as he felt her tongue pressing around the head of his cock, flicking it lightly before running back up and down the shaft. She kept sucking deeper, and deeper until the head of his cock was wedged into the back of her throat, and she was swallowing, her soft flesh convulsing around him. He clenched his muscles tightly, trying to hold back his orgasm. Then he felt her hand caressing his inner thigh, gliding up to where his balls hung heavy between his legs. She grasped him there and squeezed gently, tugged even more gently, intensifying his pleasure tenfold.

"Marguerite," he gasped, "I don't want to go in your mouth." She rolled her eyes upward to look at him, and he almost lost his composure entirely, but squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Almost immediately the powerful suction disappeared, and his cock popped out into the cool air. He expected her to move away from him, but instead felt her searching tongue slide over his balls, licking and sucking gently on him. The sensation was amazing, but let him pull away from the edge. He shivered, and pushed her shoulders gently back. With shaking hands, he stripped himself to the skin.

Marguerite leaned back languorously, and fluttered her eyelashes in his direction. With a coquettish smile, she spread her legs, inviting him closer. He knelt between her legs and pushed his cock into her, smiling at her soft sigh of pleasure. He thrust into her a few times, and then ran one fingertip lightly around her clit, making her writhe and moan. Her toes curled, grasping the sheets as he brought her already so-sensitive skin pleasure. He pulled her upward until she was seated on his lap and brought his arms around her, cuddling her up against his chest as he rocked in and out of her.

Her head fell back as he suckled on her breasts and nuzzled between them. When he kneaded the flesh of her ass, she rested her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly. He pumped his hips into her and felt the familiar waves of pleasure starting in his tailbone.

"Mmm, I'm going to come, Marguerite," he murmured. With a soft, almost regretful sigh, she slid off of him, and began sucking his cock again. She slid her lips up and down only a few times before he shuddered, his cum rushing up and into her mouth.

When they were both spent, she nestled down into her thick covers. "You can stay, if you like," she offered. He curled around her, stroking his fingertips lightly over her bruised flesh. His mind wandered, as it often did at times like this, to Alice.

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