Free The Young Wife by Stephanie Calvin Page B

fascinated tone, to avoid telling her how I had felt when I first noticed it was bare.
    She explained in a demure and matter-of-fact way: ‘Yes, a little, but I quite like it. I don’t mind a little pain, if the effect is worth it. I like having no hair there. It seems cleaner, or something. Anyway, it makes me feel kinky, knowing that it is totally exposed when I bend over. Even the lips, you know?’
    I laughed uncomfortably, though I knew what she meant, and there was a heavy snake of excitement curling in my belly when I asked her, ‘Do you think I should do it too, Anne?’
    â€˜I’ll do it for you,’ she offered with a cheeky smile. Her hand went to her hip, the other to her hair, then she turned her back on me and bent to test the water again. I watched the flaring of her smooth hips, and the flash of her lips underneath the tight cheeks. She flicked the hot water off her fingers, and turned the taps off. Then she sat down beside the bath.
    â€˜Get undressed, Jessie. The water will get cold if you just stand there,’ she said, and rested her chin on one hand to watch what I would do. My dress, which was feeling a little bit grubby by then, hit the floor, followed closely by an equally jaded pair of cotton pants. I kicked them away in embarrassment, knowing that Anne would understand exactly how I was feeling. Bra and shoes, then my hairclips on to a shelf, until I was as naked as the lovely Miss Simpson. I stepped over her into the steamy, fragrant water, and she peeped up between my legs as they parted.
    â€˜I am going to have to do something about the front too, Jessica,’ she said. ‘It’s very untidy, isn’t it?’
    I didn’t answer, being more intent on getting rid of the feeling of uncleanness that had suddenly come over me.
    â€˜Move down, Jess. I want to get behind you,’ she said, and I obliged her by sliding my bottom along the silky surface of the bathtub, until my knees had drawn up, and my toes were grazed by the plug. The water splished and splashed as she settled in behind me, and I felt the smooth insides of her thighs stroke like a warm breeze against my back. The feeling of her skin against mine, under water, was amazing. So smooth that it felt as if currents of hot water were touching me, not another woman’s skin. She began to wet, and wash, my hair, making my scalp tingle with her fingers. My eyes closed, and I let her rub my temples, then the tense cords of my neck, then the small muscles at the top of my spine. My tits were bobbing at the waterline, and they swayed with the slightest movement of our lithe bodies. Her hands came round and up to enfold the wet globes, to squeeze my thorny nipples on their beds of plump flesh. She soaped my back and armpits, my neck and bobbing breasts; then she rinsed me with her cupped hands. The steam had beaded on my forehead, and it ran down my face, collected into tiny streams. It tickled my neck and chest, but I did not wipe it away.
    â€˜Kneel up, so I can wash your bottom,’ she said, and I did, without opening my eyes. I felt the water level drop to mid-thigh as I raised myself, on slippery knees, to the cold air. My breasts swung their straining tips, hardening against the cold, and I groped for the taps to steady my sliding knees. The water ran down my spine and into my crack, tickling as it went, until it lost itself in the damp grove around my slit. I felt slim fingers slip between my clenched thighs, and I gasped at the pressure of her forearm on the plump lips of my cunt. I tilted my bottom up, so that it would open wide, and let my knees slide wider still. She sponged me, underneath the creases of my cheeks, making them wobble, each in turn. She sponged them apart, then round their upper slopes, then back into the open cleft. She sponged my weeping slit, and fluffed the soapy button pursed between the upper meeting of my foamy pussy-lips. I groaned, and thrust my cold cheeks