This week's excerpt is from A Divine Solution, by Vina Green. It is another of the stories in the wet-themed anthology Drenched, which I'll be showcasing over the next month.
That first night, just after she had tentatively stepped into the bathtub under his instruction, she thought of the baptism, and it occurred to her that Tom was aroused by water.
The tub was so deep – much deeper than an ordinary bath – she’d had to carefully tuck her full skirt beneath her and perch on the edge and then lower herself in. He had bent down and placed one hand on the edge and jumped, so close he was nearly on top of her. His impatience was palpable, and almost anger. Though there was no malice in it, nor any real temper or frustration. No, the emotion wasn’t quite anger. It was longing. Sarah recognised that feeling as easily as she knew her own shadow, for it had followed her for as long as she could remember.
This time, instead of pulling her into the water he put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her forward. She plunged in, face first, spluttering until he pulled her out again and let her catch her breath. Then he pushed her towards the opposite lip so that she could steady herself on the edge of the pool as he lifted her skirts up and prepared to enter her from behind. Her petticoats spread out on the surface like a parachute, and he bundled a bunch up on either side and pushed the fabric into her hands, indicating that she should keep it lifted for him.
Although the bath was deep it had only filled enough to reach the back of her thighs when she was standing. He curved his palms through the water, creating a pair of waves that rippled across the surface and then up and over her buttocks in a wet slap. He cupped his hands and threw scoops over her back. Rivulets poured over her shoulders, following the curve of her breasts that hung in front of her as she bent over like the udders of a cow, and formed droplets on the pointed nubs of her nipples. She felt a current of air, cool after the sting of the hot water, and then the wet smack of his hand as he brought his palm down first on one ass cheek, and then the other. She hissed from the shock of it, and gripped the lip of the tub tighter to avoid losing her balance. He ran the blade of his hand between the valley of her ass, the hard points of his fingers pressing against her asshole.
They developed a rhythm between them. As the pressure of his fingertips against her hole became more insistent, she pushed back against him, and he thrust further forward, until the push and pull of their desire was like the pulsing tide of the sea. A silent conversation of want, each of them intimating that with this new and forbidden exploration, they were fulfilling the need of the other and not their own desire. His fingers were inside her now, and as she relaxed and allowed him to enter he pushed deeper and began to thrust.
She moaned, a sound that was something like a croak. Despite the humidity in the air, her throat felt as dusty dry as the fields around them would soon become, as dry as a sand dune in the midday sun. She licked her lips, trying to moisten them but it was no use, as if all of the moisture in her body had been drawn down to her vagina. She was seeping, sodden. Wetness dripped from the folds of her cunt into the water below her.
Sarah steadied herself with one hand and reached the other between her legs. She grazed her clit and the unexpected touch, after so much longing, swept through her in one sharp jolt as though she had been irradiated. But it was not her clit that she was seeking. She fumbled at the air, reached the strong bulk of Tom’s thigh and travelled higher until she brushed against the softness of his balls, and then the hard pole of his cock. The effort nearly unbalanced her but she clung to the slippery edge of the tub as she wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft and tried to angle the path of his erection towards her cunt. She wanted him inside her, but he resisted her touch, and batted her hand away. He caught her as she nearly slipped sideways and lowered her hand back onto the bath’s edge.
His torso curved over her back and his penis jutted, a rigid point that jabbed against her leg until he stood upright again and directed it between her buttocks. Sarah raised her rump a little, using her body to nudge him lower, towards the entrance of her pussy but Tom was insistent. He dragged his cock up and down, following the same path that he had caressed with the flat of his hand earlier. When his cock head found the dip of her anus he let it rest there for a few moments and then began to gently push, to ease her open. Her hands turned white as she gripped the tub tighter in anticipation of what would come next.
Thoughts flickered in her mind, darting in and out of her consciousness like seabirds skimming the surface of the ocean but never settling. Her mind warred with her body. One thinking, questioning; would it hurt? Would God punish her for sodomy? Did she want this?
Her flesh paid no attention to her thoughts and simply processed these new sensations; the way the silky velvet tip of his cock head felt pressing against her asshole, the sound of his breathing, increasingly labored, the warmth of his saliva as he pulled away for a moment, spat on her and used his fingers to work the lubricant into her hole. He repeated this process again and again until she was wet and relaxed enough for him to slide inside. Just an inch, at first. He held still, and she held her breath. She exhaled and relaxed a little more and he slid a little further inside her. Eventually, the full length of his shaft was buried inside her ass, and she was rocking back and forward against him, pushing her rear up against his groin, encouraging him to thrust deeper and deeper. He was holding onto her hips now, one hand on either side of her buttocks. His thrusts becoming faster, more urgent.
Sarah did not want him to go limp again and leave her empty and aching for more, as he had in the car earlier. She scooted her left arm across in front of her to centre her body and with her right hand she delved between her folds. A soft hiss escaped her lips, the sound of an out breath through her teeth at the sheer relief she took in pleasuring herself. Tom hadn’t even noticed. He was kneading her buttocks in his hands, pulling away and half slapping her in his effort to hold her hips in place as his pumping became more frenzied.
Sarah found her rhythm, quick circular strokes over her nub, occasionally dipping into her well to wet her fingertips before sliding through her furrow again and applying just the right degree of pressure to her clitoris, the peculiar physics of self love.
But she was too late, or too slow, or rather, Tom was too quick. He lasted far longer than he had the first time, perhaps because it was his second release in a few hours, or maybe because the circumstances were less hurried. When he came, he collapsed against her and she fell forward. Instinctively, she drew her right hand away from its position between her thighs and threw it out in front of her to catch her balance.
The ache of her frustration was a sharp knife twist, rapid and cutting. His cock softened and flopped out of her as he pulled away.
He stepped out of the tub and the water rippled and splashed around her.
She didn’t turn to look at him.
“Dry yourself,” he said, “and come to bed.” She heard the soft whump of a towel hitting the wooden floorboards nearby.
Drenched at Amazon US : Amazon UK
Vina Green's blog
"I’m a writer. I live in East London, though not in one of the cool bits. I don’t ride a bicycle, and I don’t have any cats (yet), but I do drink a great deal of coffee, and I don’t sleep as much as I’d like.
When I’m not writing, I work in a corporate job in the City.
When I’m not working or writing, then I’m likely swimming, or basking in a ray of sunlight somewhere. I am one of those people who can very happily spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing.
I never intended to write erotica. In fact, the first piece of intentionally erotic writing I ever produced doesn’t have any sex in it at all.
But, on reflection, I think I’ve been writing erotica to some extent, all along. I like to write the feel of things – the squeeze of a lemon, the taste of a mouthful of sea water, the cool press of dirt on your hands. And I think this type of writing is by its nature, erotic, because it evokes feeling, and sensation. My aim is to create feeling, to emote something – not necessarily to turn my readers on, though I have been told that is sometimes a side effect – but to bring a scene to life in the readers mind. But I can tell you that I take pleasure in small things, and that’s what I like to write about. I get a kick out of hanging up wet laundry. I’m interested in people, in relationships, in the beauty of the ordinary. "
