Dirty Soap

I badly wanted to lay my head in Lucas' lap.

"So," he began, his toes flexing as he perched his feet on my coffee table. He frowned at the TV, where the morning show people were talking to a prominent chef who appeared to have far, far too much tit. "Who gets to take the first shower?"

I snapped my head around, looking fully into his face, putting on an expression of mock shock. "You brute! I'm a lady; I don't discuss such things."

He stared at me long enough to remind me mutely of all the noise I'd made the other day. "Well. It's a special occasion. Our last morning together." He shrugged. "I just figured that whoever goes second is going to have, you know, an advantage..."

A slow smile curved my lips, and I wasn't even remotely able to stop it. Not that I wanted to. "I'm surprised you'd say so," I purred. "They'll have so much less hot water..."

"That's not what I meant, Bev."

"I know, Lucas." I gnawed at my lower lip, still feeling the coffee move through me. "There are solutions for that, you know," I put in quietly, wondering immediately whether I'd actually said it out loud. So I clamped my mouth shut.

But, of course, he hadn't missed a thing. "Solutions." He shrugged and peered into his coffee. He let the silence build after that, the TV still vapid in the background. "It's a pretty big shower," he observed.

"It's a tub," I blurted. I knew my eyes were flashing, now, as I looked across at him. "I know, because I've taken a bath in there."

"Oh?" His eyebrows rose. "We're doing baths now?"

I giggled. "Forget it. I'll go first." I stood up and stretched, Jersey jolted out of his stupor, my hands shooting toward the ceiling. I closed my eyes and held the pose, knowing he'd be looking at my tits, still pretty firm in the thin t-shirt, and wondering whether he could tell the color of my underwear through the fabric. I looked over my shoulder at him, smiling. "Make sure the cups make it into the sink, Lucas. And, you know, if you can think of any solutions..." I giggled once more and then reached the pass-through, wondering what the fuck I was up to.

* * *

I figured I'd leave him a pretty hairy bar of soap to remember me by, and I was feeling kindly enough toward him that I resolved it'd be a fast shower, with minimal hot water, to give him plenty of time to soap his cock and take it for a spin. It was only right, I reasoned; I was determined to be a good hostess to the last. Besides, I decided, he'd be waking up before me now, so until he moved out I'd have second dibs every day.

Might as well give him a little fun today.

I had to work quickly, but I knew it would be no problem: I'd been dampening my panties even before I'd gotten up off the couch. I rattled the glass door shut, wedged my foot in its familiar place, and had my hands busy even while the water was still turning warm. Back went my head, the water gushing into my heavy hair as I started in on myself, as usual, left hand from the side and right hand above my clit, feeling my mind go all pink and mushy, and just as things started building, it happened.

The door.

It always squeaked horribly with the friction of the door against the jamb, and it usually made me start. Not this time. I kept my eyes closed; I realized in an instant that I'd been expecting him to come in, that I'd have been disappointed if he hadn't. I knew he could see all of me through the glass, and I didn't care. No, even more: I wanted him to look. I hadn't felt this reckless since college, when I'd been notably careless about nudity. "Yes?" I was proud that I sounded clear and calm, like this kind of thing was totally normal. "Or do you walk in on showering women all the time?"

I heard his deep voice. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't hold it. I need to pee."

I laughed. My brain was on fire; this was so unbelievably, unimaginably naughty. I was masturbating right in front of him! "Sure," I nodded, my fingers settling into a slower, longer-lasting rhythm; I knew now that this wasn't going to be a quick shower. Not anymore. "Just don't peek, buddy."

"Mm-hmm." I watched through the spray-bleared glass as Lucas glanced casually around the bathroom, being very obvious about not looking at me, then shambled over to the toilet. He left the door wide open, and why not? "Sorry about this, Bev," he tossed over his shoulder, and I said nothing, just watched as he did that guy thing where they square themselves to the toilet, fiddle with their penis, and then hunch their shoulders and look expectant until it comes out.

I couldn't hear it hit the bowl, obviously, but that was the least of what was going through my mind. Nope, I had plenty of other things to worry about. Like, what the fuck was I doing? What the fuck was he doing? More to the point, what the fuck was I going to do? Was I really going to let Lucas fuck me right here, in the shower? It amazed me how calmly I was thinking about it. I should've been freaking out, but instead I was just watching coolly as this guy peed right in front of me. All I was thinking about, perversely, was how let down I'd be if he just finished up and walked out.

I mean, hell. We'd come this far.

I raised my voice, feeling the hoarseness in my throat; I cleared it loudly. "Remember, don't flush. It'll turn the water cold."

"Right. I know." He glanced back at me, his shoulders bouncing as he shook his dick. "Don't use it all. I still need to go."

"Actually," I smiled, "I just might. A cold shower would serve you right after invading my privacy like this." I watched closely to see what he'd do next, my fingers still lazy on my body. "This is a hell of an interruption, you fucking creep."

"Huh." Lucas nodded, seemed to pause a moment, then crossed over to the sink. "It's not like I planned this."

"Bullshit." I felt giddy. He was taking his sweet time washing his hands, too. I felt my skin getting hotter, redder. "You could've held it."

"Maybe." He looked over his shoulder again. "You, uhh, use the soap yet?"

I laughed long and loud at that, and I almost missed the part where Lucas turned deliberately and leaned against the sink. He was studying me now, obviously, and I loved it. I was dying for it. "Not in the way you mean, valentine," I volleyed back. There it was, the decision made, and I nodded to myself. My ears were buzzing. "Come and get it, if you need it."

"I just might." Fuck me, he was coming over. My brain scrambled for what to do, then decided there was no point in stopping. He knew what I was up to. Jesus, I thought gleefully, I must have him so aroused right now! His shape loomed up on the far side of the glass, just slightly blurred by the spray. I saw him stare at my body, the two of us separated by nothing but that sliding door; I was hornier than I could remember being, my mouth dry. He smiled. "Yeah, you're right," he said, his deep voice intruding over the pounding water. "I probably could have held it."

I grinned back. "Soap's on the tray, stud," I winked. "I won't stop you."

"Fuck that. I'll get my clothes all wet."

I waited, then, until his eyes rose from my tits to my face, then looked straight into his face and pitched my voice just low enough to float through the glass. "There's a solution for that."

He was already nodding as he took one step back, and then I was watching through the shower door as Lucas Sanders took his clothes off. Fuck. This was happening. The ratty old t-shirt, the stupid cartoon PJ bottoms, and then there he was in nothing but a loose pair of boxers and the cock inside them. He looked back up at me, just a brief glance to read me, and I was very careful to give him nothing: if he was looking for permission, absolution, or anything like that, I wasn't into it. He was a big boy; let him make big-boy decisions.

When he pushed his shorts down I only had eyes for that thick, dark trail of hair, the very hair I'd been teasing myself with for weeks now. The hair thatching that area of a man's body I love so much. He was looking down at himself when he finally got the waistband down to the root of his cock, and even before he had the whole thing out I could tell it was a big one. I know my mouth was falling open when his boxers went whispering down his hairy legs to land on the damp floor, and when he looked back up at me I was grinning wide.

"See?" I was barely audible over the rush of the water. "A solution." He stood in the doorway, watching my reaction, and he was dangling long and heavy and all I wanted was to get him close to me. "Come on in. Why waste the hot water?"

"Something like that." He had that confident smirk on now, the one that he'd only shown me glimpses of early on. He lifted his thin legs and stepped carefully over the edge of the tub. "It'd be a shame to get splashes all over the floor, too."

"You can say that again," I cooed, and then the door was squeaking shut in its track and holy fuck. I was naked in the shower with Lucas, the two of us looking straight at each other, with no shame at all. "So," I went on thickly, tossing my hair out of my face, "were you just going to get the soap, or what?"

"Well, I guess I could just wash my hands in here, right?" I stopped, at last, and lowered my leg to give him more space, backing up until I felt the tub faucet against the back of my knee.

"Sounds good," I nodded, licking my lips, my foot perching once more on the side of the tub. I was wide open, putting my whole body on display for this man, especially once I spread my pussy lips. He watched as I slid a finger comfortably inside myself. "You just let me know if I'm in the way."

"No. I can work around you." He stepped into me then, past where my foot was resting, close enough that I was staring up at him towering over me. "Excuse me." He was so loud, his voice so deep up close like this, and I shivered to look down and see his cock rising already, reaching for me, solid and thick with the hot water cascading off it. He glanced down between us. "Well now. Would you look at that."

"Look at what?" Fuck. I could barely get the words out, my pussy lips all hot and thick in my strumming fingers. "You, or me?"

"Both." He was rising quickly now, past the horizontal, and I watched wide-eyed as he wrapped his fingers around his shaft.

"Jesus," I whispered, and there it was staring at me like an accusing judge, looking lewd and massive and threatening in his fist, the head a firmly trembling shade of deep purple. "I like that."

"As much as it likes you," he agreed softly, the steam rising, and I sighed; that perfect male body, just inches away, the skin of his dick pulling and bunching, pulling and bunching, all while I kept up the pressure above my clit, my hips now swinging in short but insistent circles. "Fuck."

"Yup." I had two fingers poking inside me now, plucking at my labia, while Lucas brought his left hand down to cup his own balls. "Mmm." He bent slightly at the waist, bracing his legs at shoulder width, and I could smell the coffee on his breath. "What are we doing here, Lucas?"

"Taking a shower." He said it with an offhand intensity, a quick experimental flick of his eyes up to my face before they went back down along my body. Once again, I arched my back for him. "Goddamn, you're hot."

I just stared down at his cock, mesmerized. It's not every day you get to see how a man pleasures himself, and this one was a masterpiece: that thick meat of his, gleaming wet, with his strong fingers caressing it. I suppressed an urge to bend down and lick the head. "I can tell you think so," I replied faintly, and I'm surprised I even got that out, for my mind was starting to wander into that dangerous and addictive space between desire and fulfillment, and I was directing almost all my attention to my own needs. "Fuck," I bit out, shaking my head slowly.

"Fuck," he agreed, and then it was just the two of us and our hormones and our gasps, moving in synch with each other: his hand and my hips in rhythm, both our mouths wide and panting. Much, much sooner than I normally did I shifted my hands, letting that shaky leg of mine back down to the floor of the tub, and when I pushed my fingers straight up myself, feeling full at last, I saw his eyes glaze over when I moaned. "Yes, Bev," he hissed, jacking faster now, the water flying off his hand and his dick. "Yes."

I didn't trust myself to reply, just felt the water and my hand and the lust and I went with it. I hunched down onto my fingers while, with the other trembling hand, I reached across the infinite space between him and I, aiming for my favorite part on a man; I stopped just millimeters away from his pubes, just beneath his belly button, with his hand jerking his cock just below, and I gazed up into his eyes with the question written all over my face.

He nodded. "Yes," he repeated, more firmly now, so my searching fingers closed the gap and felt his body, the roughness of the hair, the smoothness of the skin with the water pouring down. I felt my own shuddering breath when he flinched at my touch.

"Just relax," I murmured, though what the fuck I was telling him to relax for at this stage I'll never know. "I want to touch you," and when I looked back up, tearing my eyes away from the hypnotic sight of my fingers twining through his pubic hair, he was looking the same question back at me. Barely even aware I was doing it, I nodded, my head dragging lazily on my neck, and that was enough of an answer: Lucas pulled his hand out from underneath his ballsack and reached slowly up, up, along my ribcage, to close tight around my right tit.

"Just relax," he mocked as I staggered, my eyes rolling up toward his, but I could hear the tight strain in his voice too, even through the fire in my body. I caught a gloating smile on his face when he started stroking my skin, his thumb windshield-wipering across my nipple, the sensation going straight to my vagina. I was glaring up at him now, accusing, protesting hollowly at how unfair this was as the lightning bolts started flashing in my field of vision.

"Motherfucker!" I lost it, my hand flapping weakly around his abdomen, anchorless, until it found a frame of reference at the root of that big, warm penis, and then I was pulling him to me in desperation, the breath whistling as it tore past my bared teeth. He shuffled toward me with his fingers twisting my nipple like a radio dial, fisting his cock in a blur of motion through the pounding water.

He was nodding at me, his face transformed, urging me on; "You sexy fucking whore. Get that last finger in there!" I tried to obey, obviously, the spasms tearing through me as my pinky stabbed toward the back of my cunt; I was too small, but that wasn't the point. The point was his command. I felt like I was already cumming, powerfully, but it felt different. It wasn't the crescendo it normally was. This was more like a drug.

I looked down, past where his hand mauled my breast, to see the head of his cock constricted by his gripping hand, moving closer, closer, and then it was touching my body right where I needed it, where my other hand had been, directly above my clit, prodding at me; I felt nothing but heat and passion, clawing at Lucas, my hand curling underneath by instinct, digging harshly between his hairy thighs, gripping hard at his balls.

He groaned. "Jesus fuck," the gust of his breath strong in my face, and I was squeezing and tugging at his leathery sack; I could feel the waves mounting, my brain fried, my body ready to sing again. I saw it in his big brown eyes, too, the heat and passion, the sense of abandon, and as I gulped for air with the steam rising all around me and a hard, vibrant cock lying against my skin, my palm full of Lucas' scrotum, I summoned the last of my sanity and put a sentence together.

"Cum with me, Lucas." It croaked out low and gaspy, my legs shaking hard. "Please." Not that it mattered; he was far past the point of self-control now, the hand tugging at his dick losing its rhythm, its discipline, and he stared back at me with a look more intense than I've seen on any man as his mouth fell open and his testicles tightened in my hand.

So I was looking down, straight at that pulsing dick, as his first load gushed hard into my bush. That's when I lost it myself at the milky sight of his cum in my copper hairs, and my eyes snapped shut. I was screaming, I knew, feeling the water go lukewarm against my back even as his semen smacked thick and hot against my front, and then his arms were around me, holding me up, both of us panting while the hot flashy orgasm wracked our wet bodies with no distance between us.

* * *

I groped behind me for the lever, shutting the water off blindly while we peeled apart from each other, and then there was no sound but the panting of overworked lungs and the gentle spatter as the last of the water dripped from hair, from nipples, from cock. I was having trouble meeting his eyes, still in disbelief at the water-streaked cum that ran in trickles down over my goosebumped flesh.

"Well," he broke the silence, his voice vibrating through his whole body; I felt it in his balls, still lying in my fingers. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I decided, disengaging, my arms coming back to rest beside me. Slowly, I dragged a hand through the soupy wreck of my pubes, holding his semen up thick and wobbly on the tip of one finger. I looked at it, then looked at his face, and then I was sucking my finger clean. I nodded. "Yeah."

"Holy shit." He said it reverently. "Look at you."

"Right?" He tasted good, my brain revving back up. I motioned with my head, and he moved aside so that I could squeeze past him toward the glass door; I felt his dick, half-hard still, nudging across my body as I passed, then his hand steadying himself on my ass while I got the door open. I didn't mind. I stepped out onto the tile floor, my brain working again, and I half-turned to talk to him over my shoulder. "I'm feeling like having a lazy morning," I sighed. "Feel free to join me."

I didn't bother waiting for him to answer. But I left him my wet footprints to follow, straight into my bedroom.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Don't forget to take a look at all the excellent Valentine's Day stories and vote for your favorites.