Chapter 5: Baptism by Tongue
The steam was a solid thing, dense and curling, swallowing the sound of the shower spray hitting the porcelain tub. Ellie stood under the near-scalding stream, letting it pound the aches from her shoulders, the ghost of the hard floor from her back. Merry was a blurred, pale shape beside her, humming something low and tuneless as she worked shampoo into her fiery hair.
The paint came off in rivulets of blue and ochre, swirling at their feet before disappearing down the drain. Ellie watched it go, a strange symbolism not lost on her. She scrubbed at a stubborn smudge on her inner thigh, her skin pink and sensitive.
“You missed a spot,” Merry said, her voice echoing softly off the tiles. She moved closer, her hand replacing Ellie’s. Her fingers were sure, rubbing the last of the burnt sienna from Ellie’s hip bone. The touch was clinical at first, then it slowed. Her thumb stroked the clean skin, a slow, thoughtful caress.
Ellie’s breath hitched. The heat of the water was nothing compared to the sudden, answering heat that bloomed low in her belly. She turned her head, meeting Merry’s gaze through the steam. Water cascaded over Merry’s forehead, down the straight line of her nose, beading on her lips. Her green eyes were dark, unreadable pools.
“You’re staring again,” Ellie whispered.
“I’m allowed.” Merry’s hand slid from Ellie’s hip around to the small of her back, pulling their wet bodies together. The contact was electric, skin sliding on slick skin. “I like seeing you clean. Fresh. But I liked you filthy, too.”
Ellie’s hands came up, resting on Merry’s waist. She could feel the powerful muscles there, the slight curve of her stomach. The confidence from the floor, from letting go and screaming, was still there, a live wire under her skin. It whispered to her, a new and thrilling instinct.
Without breaking eye contact, Ellie sank to her knees.
The porcelain was hard and unforgiving under her knees. The water beat down on her back and head, flattening her hair, streaming into her eyes. From this angle, Merry was a goddess. Water sluiced down the tight curls of red hair between her legs, over strong thighs. Ellie’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum. She wasn’t being guided this time. She was initiating.
Merry’s sharp intake of breath was louder than the shower. Her hands came down, not to push or pull, but to brace against the tiled wall. “Oh,” was all she said, a soft exhale of surprise and approval.
Ellie didn’t hesitate. She leaned forward, nuzzling into the coppery thatch, inhaling the clean, soapy scent mixed with something deeper, something inherently Merry. She bypassed teasing. She went straight to the source, parting her with her thumbs and dragging the flat of her tongue through slick, swollen folds.
The taste was different from earlier—clean skin, the faint chemical sweetness of body wash, and underneath, that fundamental, musky truth of her. Ellie groaned, the vibration earning a jerking flinch from Merry’s hips. She did it again, purposefully, learning the landscape with her mouth. She found the hard, eager nub of Merry’s clit and circled it, her tongue firm and direct.
“Fuck. Ellie.” Merry’s voice was strained, her knuckles white where she gripped the wall. “Just like that. Yes.”
The praise was gasoline on a fire. Ellie opened wider, taking more of her in, sucking gently at first, then harder as Merry’s hips began a shallow, involuntary rocking. Ellie’s hands moved to grip the backs of Merry’s thighs, holding her steady, feeling the muscles quiver with tension. She was drowning in sensation—the pounding water, the taste, the sounds Merry was making above her: short, punched-out gasps and fractured curses.
“Deeper,” Merry commanded, her voice guttural. She removed one hand from the wall and fisted it in Ellie’s soaked hair. Not yanking, but claiming. Anchoring. “Get your tongue inside me. I want to feel it.”
Ellie obeyed, spearing her tongue as deep as it would go, fucking her with it in quick, desperate strokes. Merry’s taste flooded her mouth, richer now, a salty, tangy essence that made Ellie lightheaded with want. She added a finger, then two, curling them up, searching. She remembered what Merry had taught her, the angle, the pressure.
She found it. The rough, spongy patch inside. She pressed.
Merry shattered. Her cry was raw, echoing off the shower walls, a sound of pure, unvarnished release. Her body bowed, back arching away from the tiles. Her thighs clamped viscously around Ellie’s head, and her cunt pulsed rhythmically, desperately around Ellie’s fingers and tongue. Ellie rode it out, lapping at her, drinking her in, until the tremors subsided and Merry’s grip on her hair loosened, becoming a trembling caress.
The water began to cool. Merry slid down the wall, her legs giving way, collapsing into a heap on the shower floor beside Ellie. They sat there, limbs tangled, breathing in ragged unison, as the spray rinsed them both.
After a long time, Merry turned her head. Her face was flushed, her eyes sated and soft. She reached out and wiped a trickle of water from Ellie’s cheek. “You’re a natural,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Ellie leaned into the touch. “I had a good teacher.”
“No.” Merry shook her head, water flying. “That was all you. That was you wanting. You taking.” A slow, proud smile spread across her face. “The student has officially surpassed the master.”
They helped each other up, turning off the now-cool water and stepping onto the bathmat. They toweled each other dry with a rough, tender familiarity. In the misty mirror, their reflections were blurred pink ghosts.
As they dressed in clean clothes—soft jeans for Ellie, a flowing skirt for Merry—the atmosphere settled into a comfortable quiet. The frantic energy of the afternoon had been washed away, replaced by a deep, humming contentment.
“So,” Ellie said, pulling a brush through her tangled hair. “This place with music and dark corners.”
“The Red Lantern,” Merry said, applying a swipe of crimson lipstick in the mirror. “It’s a jazz club. Soul food. Dark wood, red lights. The band’s good. The cocktails are better.” She turned, looking Ellie up and down. “You look… different.”
Ellie paused. “Do I?”
“Yeah. Your eyes. They’re not… waiting for permission anymore.” Merry stepped close, adjusting the collar of Ellie’s simple black shirt. “Remember what I said. You’re not a bother. You’re a fucking event. Now, let’s go.”
The night air was cool, a shock after the steam of the shower. The Red Lantern was exactly as Merry described: a low-ceilinged cavern of mahogany and crimson velvet, smelling of fried catfish, bourbon, and old cigar smoke. A three-piece band was setting up on a small stage, the low thrum of a bass tuning slicing through the murmur of conversation.
They found a small table near the back, shrouded in shadow. A candle flickered in a thick glass jar, casting dancing light on their faces. Ellie felt a flutter of the old anxiety, the sense of being out of place. She looked around at the other patrons—couples leaning close, groups laughing, a lone man at the bar nursing a drink. She felt Merry’s foot nudge hers under the table.
“Stop it,” Merry said softly, sipping her old-fashioned. “You belong anywhere you damn well please.”
A waiter brought them fried green tomatoes and glasses of something dark and spicy. The music started, a slow, smoky blues number. Ellie let the sound wash over her, the ache of the saxophone seeming to speak directly to the new, raw places inside her.
Halfway through their second drink, Merry leaned forward. “See that man at the bar? The one in the grey suit. He’s looked over here seven times in ten minutes.”
Ellie’s stomach tightened. She followed Merry’s subtle glance. The man was in his late forties, handsome in a worn, weathered way. He was indeed looking at them. No, not at them. At her.
“He’s looking at you,” Merry murmured, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “He’s wondering who you are. He sees a beautiful woman with a secret in her eyes.” She took Ellie’s hand, running a thumb over her knuckles. “He has no idea that secret is my pussy on your tongue an hour ago.”
A shocked, giddy laugh burst from Ellie. She felt a thrill, dangerous and bright. She didn’t look away from the man. Let him look. Let him wonder. The quiet woman from the suburban marriage was gone. In her place was someone who kneeled on hard floors and didn’t apologize for the noise she made.
She took a long sip of her drink, the alcohol warming her chest. She met the man’s gaze across the shadowy room and, just for a moment, allowed a small, enigmatic smile to touch her lips before turning back to Merry.
“His loss,” Ellie said, her voice steady, clear in the humid air.
Merry’s answering grin was brilliant, lit from within by pride and something fiercer. “Damn right it is.”
The band shifted into a faster, pulsing rhythm. The candle flame between them danced. The night, vast and full of unknown eyes, stretched out before them, and Ellie felt no urge to hide in the darkness. For the first time, she felt like part of the light.