Chapter 27: Weekend PT 5
The steam clung thick and wet, smelling faintly of Puck’s sandalwood body wash and the lingering, acrid ghost of bile. Water drummed against Ron’s shoulders, hot enough to sting, washing away the sticky trails of spit and tears and… other things. He kept his eyes fixed on the water swirling down the drain, trying to erase the image of the bowl, the swirling mess within it, the terrifying triumph on Puck’s ruined face.
Her fingers, slick with soap, traced the tense muscles of his back. "Shhh, baby," she murmured, her voice still rough, a raw scrape against the hiss of the shower. "Just breathe. We’re clean now." Her touch was surprisingly gentle, kneading the knots between his shoulder blades. He flinched anyway. The kindness felt like another kind of trap.
She pressed herself against him, her wet skin sliding against his. The exaggerated curves of her breasts, slick and heavy with soap, flattened against his chest. Her hips ground slowly against his thigh. "See?" she breathed into his ear, her breath hot against the steam. "All better." Her hand slid down his stomach, fingers trailing suds.
Ron squeezed his eyes shut. The heat, the closeness, the relentless press of her body – it was suffocating. He felt pinned, not just by her physicality, but by the terrifying expectation that hung thick in the humid air. He wanted to push her away, bolt from the cubicle, run screaming into the night. But the memory of her eyes, burning with that possessed adoration even as she choked, held him frozen.
"Turn around, Master," she whispered, her lips brushing his earlobe. Her hand slid lower, circling him with possessive familiarity. He felt himself respond traitorously, a dull throb of unwanted arousal beneath her touch. "Let Pet wash you proper."
He obeyed, mechanically, turning his back to her. Her arms snaked around his waist from behind. She lathered soap onto his chest, her movements slow, deliberate. Her breasts pressed firmly against his spine, the hard nubs of her piercings digging in slightly. Her soapy hands slid lower, over his hips, down his thighs, then back up, lingering. She hummed softly, a low, satisfied sound vibrating against his back.
"Such a good Master," she murmured, her lips grazing his shoulder blade. Her hands slid around to his front again, slick and insistent. "Taking such good care of Pet." Her fingers worked the soap, sliding, stroking. He braced himself against the tiled wall, knuckles white, staring blindly at the fogged glass. The water beat down, a relentless percussion to the frantic drumming in his chest.
She shifted, pressing closer still. One soapy hand slid down between his legs from behind, cupping him firmly. The other reached around, fingers slick and probing. He gasped, a sharp intake of breath choked by steam. Her laugh was a low, throaty rumble against his skin.
"Shy?" she teased, her fingers moving with practiced ease. "After everything?" She nipped lightly at his shoulder. "Pet knows her Master’s needs." Her hips began a slow, sinuous grind against his backside, the soap making her movements slick and effortless. Her breasts slid against him, her hand worked him steadily. The sensations were overwhelming, a confusing mix of revulsion and involuntary response.
She leaned forward, her damp raven hair brushing his neck. "Feel how wet Pet is for you, Master?" she breathed, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She guided his hand back, pressing it firmly against the slick heat between her legs. "All yours. Always." She moaned softly, arching against his touch, against his body. "Make me feel it, baby. Make me yours again."
He felt trapped in the steam, in the relentless press of her, in the terrifying intimacy of her demand. His fingers moved clumsily, driven by her insistent guidance and the sheer, paralyzing force of her will. Her moans deepened, mingling with the rush of water. She rocked against his hand, against his body, a creature lost in her own desperate hunger.
Suddenly, she pulled his hand away, spinning him back around to face her. Her eyes were dark pools in her flushed face, pupils wide despite the bright bathroom light filtering through the steam. Water streamed down her cheeks, plastering strands of dark hair to her temples and neck. A slow, predatory smile spread across her lips. She took his soapy hands and placed them firmly on her breasts.
"Rub," she commanded, her voice low and thick. "Rub Pet’s titties all over you." She pressed herself forward, dragging her slick, heavy breasts across his chest, his stomach. The soap made her skin glide like satin. She leaned in, her lips finding his neck, sucking gently, then harder, leaving a mark he knew would bloom purple later. Her hips continued their slow grind against his thigh.
She moved lower, dragging her breasts down his torso, the piercings scraping lightly. She knelt before him in the streaming water, looking up, her gaze unwavering. She took his hands again, placing them on her soapy backside. "Rub Pet’s ass too, Master," she purred, guiding his hands over the curves. "All of Pet belongs to you." She pressed her cheek against his thigh, nuzzling. "Every inch."
Ron stood rigid, hands moving only because she moved them. The heat, the steam, the slick slide of her skin, the relentless pressure of her desire – it felt like drowning. He was a puppet, limbs manipulated by her terrifying need.
She rose back up, pressing her wet body flush against his once more. Her arms looped around his neck, pulling his head down. Her kiss was deep, demanding, tasting faintly of soap and something metallic underneath. She broke it, panting slightly, her eyes locked onto his. That feverish intensity was back, brighter than ever.
A playful, utterly incongruous smile flickered across her face. She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though it still rasped from her abused throat.
"Hey, Master?" she breathed, her fingers tracing the shell of his ear. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and something darker, more primal. She leaned in, her lips brushing his. "Make me bark."