She stopped in front of the shower and I turned on the facet. “Get in and use the soap in the corner,” I instructed her then, though it was unnecessary. I could tell by the light, floral scent of her skin that she’d showered a multitude of times on her own since arriving here. Of course, she’d never had to do it in front of me, and I was looking forward to the show.
She stepped beneath the showerhead and I watched as water cascaded down her slender curves. When she’d squeezed the soap into her hands, she rubbed them together and then started at her neck, working her way across ‘safe’ zones, like her shoulders and down her arms.
“Stop,” I said when she moved down to her stomach, and I stepped forward and squeezed the soap into my own hand. “Turn around,” I told her and her eyes flew to mine. I cocked an eyebrow and she pressed her lips together hard, but she complied.
I rubbed the soap on the back of her neck. Her whole body seemed to sigh, though she covered it quickly, stiffening her spine.
“Take pleasure when it is offered. There is nothing wrong with it,” I found myself telling her. “Your body was made to feel pleasure, to respond to touch,” I continued as I worked my way down between her shoulder blades.
It seemed she was making a genuine effort, breathing slowly, deeply, and unclenching her shoulders. But it also seemed, like this, it was far more difficult for her. When her body was revved up with intense arousal, it was near-impossible for her to resist it. It clouded her thinking and probably helped to quell her father’s voice in her head—the son of a bitch who’d tried to warp his daughter into thinking there was something wrong with her simply for being human, for being a woman.
Even if her innate interests leaned to the dark and erotic side, there was nothing wrong with her acknowledging them. Hell, a girl with interests like hers could have most of the world’s population of men wrapped around her finger in five seconds flat. What the hell could be wrong with that? And though it shouldn’t make a bit of fucking difference to me, I wanted her to believe what I was saying, to accept that there was nothing wrong or dirty about what she liked. She wasn’t a whore—no matter what her fucked up father thought.
“Stop listening to it, to the voice in your head that told you there was something wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with what you like, Pet. It pleases me very much to know your body can respond to me, no matter what I’m doing to you.”
To emphasize my point, I slipped my hands around in front of her and cupped her breasts, catching her nipples between my fingers and squeezing harder than I usually would, but knowing now that her body would turn that pain into something more, something irresistible for her.
Her hands shot out to the wall to support herself as she squealed in response, but she didn’t try to get away.
“Very good, Pet. Now, keep going. Wash the rest of your body.”
I’d intended to just watch, but I kept my hands on her breasts as she returned to her stomach, and then her hips. I slipped down to massage her ass when her hands started soaping down one leg and then the other.
As she worked her way back up her thigh, she slowed. There was only one place left that required her attention. Her breath was already coming faster, but when I released her ass and turned her around to watch her, there were tears on her cheeks.
No, damn it. I would not feel guilty. She was still the same girl she was before I’d read that fucking journal. And my guilt did her absolutely no good. The objective trainer I’d been for years is what she needed.
“Now,” I commanded.
She knew what I meant, and she slipped a trembling hand between her thighs. Her fingers glided between her folds and her breathing sped up even more.
“Very good,” I said but persisted. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Her body was obviously responding—but to what? Just the feel of her slippery fingers? Or was there more to it?
She shook her head vigorously, and I reached around to spank one, firm cheek. She squealed, but her hand pressed harder against her pussy.
“I’m…I’m thinking about being watched,” she spoke quietly to the shower floor as tears dripped off her chin. “…about you watching me.”
Fuck. She was just too damn much.
I brushed her hand away and replaced her fingers with my own, honing in on her clit peeking out above her lips. Her body jolted and she reached out her hands to steady herself but jerked them away fast. Because it was my shoulders she’d latched onto for support.