Dirty Soap

"Fuck!" I bit out, very loud and quite distinct, and my reddened skin was suddenly a slick shimmering sheet of shower water mixed with my own sweat and drool and, down between my legs, the goop that my fingers had dragged out of my spastic pussy. "Fuck!" I became dimly aware of my right arm flopping back and forth like a windshield wiper, sweeping my wrist from side to side in heedlessly swinging arcs as I abused myself, strumming my body the way Jeff sometimes strummed his guitar, making it last. And last it did: it kept building, growing, sweeping up out of my midsection and conquering my brain until I wasn't even sure where I was or what I was doing.

I was still standing once I came back to earth, my legs shaking, bent over with both hands gripping the side of the tub to keep me from falling. I gulped air and looked down at where my soaked deep-red hair was dangling down like heavy curtains over a stage, hiding my shamed face and my hoarsely gasping mouth, the orgasm still spiking at my body.

I had no idea what I'd said in my ecstasy. I could only hope it hadn't been something along the lines of, "IwannafuckLucasSanders, andbecomehislittleslut!" but, of course, there was no way I could know. I've been told I can be pretty vocal sometimes when I fuck, but truthfully I didn't really know how I sounded when I made myself cum. I was usually paying attention to other things. But it was too late now to worry about it; I straightened slowly, knowing I'd have to answer to a pulled muscle in my neck, letting the water (now, alas, a lot cooler) sluice over my skin.

Vaguely I was aware that a lot of time had passed, that I had things to do. That Lucas had a job interview at 11:30, and would need a shower pretty soon. So that's why I reached coldly out, grabbed the unused soap, ran it under the stream of water, and used it to scrub my cunt as vigorously as I'd just stroked it, though shorter. And I didn't replace the bar in its tray until I made sure it had a pretty fair supply of my curly copper hairs sticking in the grooves my desperate fingers had been making for days now.

The water went off with the usual shudder in the walls.

* * *

I stumbled in late, shredded from the Valentine's shift at the restaurant and by the two shots of vodka I'd downed with the bar manager. I'm a small girl, and not used to vodka shots. I'd been extremely careful on the drive home.

I kicked the door closed behind me and leaned against it, overwhelmed by the wave of relief at being home. And, frankly, buzzed. And, just as frankly, delighted to find Lucas propped on the couch with a laptop, his legs stretched across the cushions. The hallway leading to the back of the house was deserted. He swiveled his head to look over at me, and we made strong eye contact. No words, just a pair of slow, secret smiles. I wondered which of us should speak first, but just as I started to think about it Lucas solved that problem with his deep voice. "Happy Valentine's Day."

I felt my smile grow to that weird, uncomfortable point where I felt the dryness in my lips get just a bit too tight. "Got another card for me, or something?"

His grin matched mine. God, he was sexy! "Last night's was enough." I was nodding even before he finished; we both knew what he was talking about. I looked toward the hall.

"Jeff's in bed already." It wasn't a question. He usually crashed long before I got home. "It was so nice of you to wait up for me. Such a gentleman."

"No." He jerked his head toward the laptop. He was wearing the Star Wars pajama bottoms, I noticed. "I'm doing research. I have to find out about this company. They offered me a job this morning."

"No shit!" I had to stop myself from clapping with joy, conscious of my sleeping husband a couple of rooms away. But I could feel my tits wobble as I did a little jig, right there by the door. "Congratulations!" Lucas had been a teacher at Jeff's school until a few months before, having left under circumstances Jeff had discouraged me from bringing up.

"Thanks." He watched me as I passed into the room, kicking off the black leather Oxford shoes I had to wear and letting them skitter across the floor. My toes flexing in my socks, I crossed to the little Ikea hutch we used as a bar. I know he was staring at my ass as I walked past, but he was a man; women always assume they're looking. Still, it felt different now. Since last night. Since this morning. I'd listened from that very couch as he'd taken his shower, after mine, and I'd heard nothing from him. But as soon as he'd left for his interview, looking casually sexy in a sport coat and a paisley tie, I'd rushed in to find zero auburn pubes on the soap. I'd nodded to myself, feeling a rush of sexual power, and now I felt the same way as I reached for the bottle of scotch he'd given us when we'd agreed to let him stay. "A holiday beverage?" There was mockery in his voice, and I smirked over my shoulder.

"It's good news," I shrugged, feeling the burr in my throat. "Why shouldn't I celebrate with my very own valentine?"

He chuckled softly. "You've already got a valentine," he pointed out. "Jeff's down the hall; I can wake him up, if you want."

"Jeff," I replied loftily, "didn't get me a card." I decided impulsively just to bring the whole bottle over; the glasses were on the high shelf, the one I was too short to reach easily. So fuck it. I knew I was swaying my hips more than I should as I walked back over to him, my stockinged feet silent on the wide pine where the rug gave out. I wondered whether the sway was a good idea, or hell, whether any of this was a good idea, but then I realized I couldn't care less.

Jeff should've gotten me a card.

"Lift your legs, you inconsiderate bastard," I ordered, my voice hushed. I was standing over him. "I need a place to sit."

"There's the rocking chair," he replied calmly, pretending to look at his computer screen, "in the corner."

"Fuck you," I giggled. "Lift your legs." He smiled as he obeyed, and I collapsed onto the seedy old cushions. I tried to remember, irrelevantly, whether I'd ever fucked Jeff on this couch, then I wondered why I was trying to recall. Whatever. "There," I cooed, settling, and I reached over to pull his feet into my lap. "Better." He was barefoot, his slippers on the floor at his end of the couch. "Now then. Shut your fucking laptop and drink with me, valentine."

He indulged me, giving that hollow smile of his and watching me narrowly through slitted eyes. The laptop joined the slippers on the floor. The cork came out of the scotch with its loud pop, and I held Lucas' gaze while I lifted the bottle to my lips; it smelled like the ocean and tasted like smoke. I felt the burn work its way down and concentrated on not grimacing. "Peaty," I managed once I was sure it was going to stay down; I'm not typically a whisky girl. I passed him the bottle. "That's excellent scotch."

"I know." He leaned forward a little to grab it. "I bought it." I was giggling a little as he tipped his head back and took a longer pull than I had, swallowing convulsively and then shaking his head. "Glad you like it, but I was thinking Jeff would drink it."

"Shut up and pass," I snapped quietly. I figured two more gulps would do it, downed with cool confidence. I felt an obscure need to show off for him. He watched me as I took the second mouthful, more confidently than I'd taken the first. "Jeff's welcome to come out and join us anytime he wants."

"Rough night at work?" Lucas nodded sympathetically.

"We ran out of whipped cream," I explained. Which seemed like a dumb thing to worry about, but it's serious business when a busy restaurant runs out of whipped cream on Valentine's night. "We sell more dessert on February 14^th than we do for the whole month of March," I mused.

"Is that the stain on your leg?" He pulled his foot off my lap and used his hairy big toe to prod at my thigh where the black trousers looked like someone had blown their nose on them. I giggled again. I was resting my hand on his other ankle without even realizing it.

"Who the fuck knows?" I offered the bottle again, then glared at him. "Hey. Who said you could look at my thigh, you fucking pervert?"

"Nobody." He took another swig. "I'm just making polite Valentine's Day conversation before I head off to bed." He lowered the bottle and made a show of looking back down at my legs, his deep voice getting raspier by the second. "It's a pretty good thigh, Bev, though I'm sure you know that already."

"Thanks. I hate it when my pants get dirty," I fretted. "We're supposed to dry-clean this shit, but who's got the time for that?"

"You should soak it." He was watching me closely, and it was hard to read his tone of voice. I chose to raise the stakes.

"But then I'd have to take them off." I arched my eyebrow. "You'd like that. You really are a fucking pervert."

Lucas shrugged elaborately. His ankle was warm under my palm. "I'm just thinking of your sartorial health."

"Sartorial!" I laughed, probably louder than I should have, and he smiled back.

"I used to be an English teacher," he reminded me. "Occupational hazard."

"Yeah." I looked sideways at him. "Why'd you stop teaching, anyway?" He'd left the bottle wedged between his legs, like a bulbous glass cock, and I leaned way over to grab it. I knew he'd be able to look down my white shirt, to see the bra in there. It thrilled me. I held the pose a moment longer than I needed to, no longer caring what I was doing. "Did you fuck a student, or something?"

"Nope." He watched as I freed the bottle, making no effort to hide where his eyes were going. This was it. One more swig, pulled off like I was a lifelong drinker. I knew I'd need to get up slowly from the couch, that I had a couple hours of heartburn ahead of me, but for some reason it was important to let him see me drink. "Just a change of life. When your girlfriend kicks you out and you start feeling bored at work, the universe is telling you something."

"Did you cheat on her?" I asked it point-blank, then took my gulp. Fuck. That one was big, a solid lump of whisky working through me like a rodent through a snake. I swallowed a few times, afterward, to keep the scotch down. "I wouldn't judge you if you did. If she's the one calling on Friday nights, you could do a lot better. Just being honest."

He shrugged again, his default setting. "Friday nights were movie nights." It wasn't an explanation, but when a man doesn't deny cheating, he's cheated. I ran my fingernail across the spout of the glass bottle, thinking of both our mouths there, the spit mingling. "I wasn't fair to her," he added obliquely, and we both nodded.

"Good enough." I looked into his eyes, feeling the alcohol flush my face, my whole body vibrating. Good god, this was a sexy man. It had snuck up on me. Weeks he'd been living with us; I wondered now how I'd avoided fucking him. I forced myself to be calm; I'd seldom wanted to kiss a man this badly, and I knew, knew with one hundred percent ironclad fucking certainty, that he wanted the same thing. I wondered how badly my nipples were poking out, but of course I couldn't possibly check. This was one of those times that called for eye contact. "You shouldn't go around hurting your women," I finished, and I could hear my voice husking up. Jesus. I needed to get out of here, and fast. "Unless they want it."

He smiled faintly, his eyes flickering all up and down my body. Like Jeff's did, sometimes. The scotch swam in my head, but my brain was screaming at me to get out of there, to leave it like this. That this was perfect, the timing right. Any woman wants to be thought of like a goddess, likes to be the one men think about when they jack off, and I knew that leaving now would make Lucas want me like he'd never wanted anyone else in his life. Especially not that shrill bitch Meredith, or like whomever he'd cheated on her with... "Well." I handed the bottle back over to him, leaning again, letting him see. "I'm off to soak these pants, Lucas. You, uhh, sleep tight."

He smiled at the double-entendres, but took the bottle back and moved his legs, calloused heels sliding across my pants. I told myself he couldn't smell my pussy, not through the polyester, but I was aware of how fucking wet I was. I rose slowly, proud of myself for not toppling over, and stretched theatrically toward the ceiling. His eyes never left me the whole time. "You should take a shower," he suggested, shifting his legs back into the space I'd just left. I could see his hard-on through the pajama pants, and he knew it, and neither of us minded.

"Maybe I should." I cleared my throat. So easy, I knew, to lean down and suck his cock. I shook my head at myself. "But I think I'll wait. If you want to take one, instead..." I shrugged. "I won't peek. Promise." I winked at him, hotly, then minced out of the room past his staring eyes.

Holy fuck.

Jeff snored beside me while I brought myself off, grunting hard, with just a few efficient twists of my wrist. I left the door open the whole time, hearing the scotch swish in the bottle, knowing he was listening to me.

* * *

Lucas walked in on me in the bathroom the next morning, though he knocked first; we'd both been in a hurry, and I hadn't had time to fully benefit from his hair on the soap. Not that that had stopped me from swiping his curlies from the bar and pressing them against my pussy lips, of course.

"Are you decent?" he boomed through the door. "I forgot to clean my ears out."

I smiled at myself in the mirror. I was brushing the tangles out of my hair, which hung long and wet and red down my back. I was buck naked in the humid bathroom, and played with the notion of just telling him to come in anyway, but in the end I shook my head at my own whim and eyed the big white towel I'd left on the floor. "Just a sec," I called back, and then it was time to do that thing we women all know how to do, where we take a large-sized towel and magically make it just large enough to fall to the bottom of our ass once we tuck it in at the top of our tits. I adjusted myself, making sure I was all packed away in and secure, and then I resumed brushing out my hair. "Okay, valentine!" I sang out.

He was in at once, dressed nicely for the orientation lunch at his new job, in nicely-fitting slacks and a grey shirt that made the most of his trim waist and dark coloring. I made eye contact in the mirror, completely unsurprised to find him staring at my legs. "Good morning," I smirked at him. "Sleep well?"

"It was kinda loud, from your room," he shrugged, not smiling. I played the game and matched his serious tone.

"You should come investigate next time. I could be in danger." He fished around in the box of cotton swabs while I kept on brushing, my body tingling, very conscious that I was just about nude with his pubes stuck to my cunt. Better, I knew now that he was conscious of it, too. "It's part of being a good houseguest, making sure your hosts are happy."

"I'll keep it in mind." He stared back at me finally, our eyes smoldering in the mirror. "Good shower?"

"No, actually." It was okay; last night's cum had been electrifying, so I could do without my shower gratification. "It was a bit rushed. You know, sometimes you can't be as thorough as you want to be."

"Mm-hmm." He was frowning with his eyes off to the side as he concentrated on his second ear. I set the hairbrush on the sink.

"Burgundy, if you've got it. Or a deep purple." He looked sharply back at me, and I shrugged. "When you're picking your tie. Go dark, but colorful." I turned my head at last to look at him directly. "You're going to look like an absolute stud, Lucas."

"Well. It's only a drug company." He tossed the Q-tips carefully into the wastebasket, then looked me up and down once more. "I'm off, Bev. Don't get too cold, now."

"Oh, I won't," I simpered, and as he went past I reached up to where I had the towel tucked in, next to my armpit. "I'm good." I let him see me untuck the towel before he closed the door behind him.

Ha. Think about that, Pube Boy.

* * *

Lucas spent the next weekend apartment hunting, and I made sure to take full advantage of his absence: not since our honeymoon had I made Jeff fuck me so comprehensively. We were getting older, he and I, so some of the acrobatic shit we'd once done was now, sadly, not much of an option; it was fun, though, finding other ways to amuse myself with his body. I even came, though mildly, and only once, at one point when I made him take me from behind over the kitchen counter. And if I was thinking of his buddy Lucas the whole time, well, was that really such a problem?

So it was a mellower Bev Bacon that showed up for the dinner shift on Monday, knowing I'd have one more morning with Lucas on Tuesday; he was starting work on Wednesday, then getting paid soon after, and then there'd be no more Jersey McGoo. Not that the dog was the only thing I'd miss, obviously, but it was probably best not to think much further. I was already in enough trouble.

Once upon a time, two days nude with my husband would have left me wrung out and dehydrated from a constant state of orgasm, going in to my shift all headachy and bow-legged. Now? It was all I could do now to avoid breaking into a big, sexy grin whenever I saw Lucas on the couch with his laptop.

But Tuesday found me sitting there instead, on one of those mornings when I'd woken up to the sounds of Jeff going to work and not been able to get back to sleep. So I padded out to the couch, where I curled up with my blanket and Lucas' dog and a worn copy of Skagboys. I sighed, ruffling my fingers along Jersey's forehead. "Hi, pooch." He looked up at me, his eyes just as brown but more mournful than his master's, and my heart thudded. "Last real day here, kiddo. But you can come visit."

"..." said Jersey. It was a look, not a sound, but I'm a dog girl. Dog people understand.

"Yeah." I sighed. "Come visit. And bark when you smell Jeff, because that'll tell me when I should stop riding your owner's dick." I stroked one soft, glovelike ear. "You're lucky, boy," I added. "You get to lick his balls in public and nobody says anything."

I swear to god, he nodded. Or, at least, he understood. I crossed my legs under the long sleeping shirt and went back to my book, watching the morning go by through the bay window until, around 9:30, I finally heard Lucas stirring back down the hall.

Good. I was in need.

"Lukie-poo," I trilled when I heard his feet at the pass-through. I held my mug aloft, empty since around 7:30. "Be a dear and fetch me some more coffee, valentine."

"Shit," he grumbled, but not angrily. "You're the waitress. You should be getting some for me."

"Manager," I snapped. "I haven't waited tables since I was twenty-six. And it's 'server' now anyway, you sexist moron."

"Huh." He drifted past, sweeping up my mug like a relay racer taking a baton, my eyes glued to his ass the entire time. "You're welcome."

"Mm-hmm." He was in the Superman pajama bottoms today. I was vaguely disappointed. Sometimes he came out in just a pair of boxers and a holed t-shirt, but whatever. You can't always get what you want. "Sleep okay?"

"Oh, you know." His voice drifted back from the little 1940s kitchen we'd kept. "Occasional vomiting. Some angina. Two toes fell off. The usual."

"Huh." He was on our old futon. I thought about telling him I'd fucked Jeff there just the other day, but decided that'd be weird. "I hope you threw away the toes at least."

"Whatever."

Company meant it was time to put the book away, share the dog, and turn on the morning TV. We sat in silence for awhile, sipping at our coffee; Lucas had been an English major, meaning he'd worked as a barrista at one time: he knew what he was doing. The liquid felt like molten heaven, crashing through my lassitude and moving me into a higher plane of existence, and I glanced sidelong at the man sharing my couch with me, very aware of how much leg I was showing under the shirt, mindful that my bra-free tits were on full display as I sat up against the cushions.