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A dream foretells my wife cheating.
"You got it all wet and dirty." He sighed, and went to work, starting with the insides of my thighs as hot water poured down his face. He did first one thigh, then the other. Then he started at the top of my cunt and licked inside its folds, finishing with an insouciant thrust into my hole. I slapped his face for that.
"Now, now. I said clean it, not tongue-fuck it. In a way, I don't blame you, because your tongue is the only part that will ever get to fuck me. But don't do it again." He nodded, and continued his task. When he was finished, he grabbed a bottle of shampoo and stood.
"Do it like the shampoo girl at the salon," I instructed, turning my back to him. He worked the soap slowly through my long hair, gently massaging my scalp with his fingers until I sighed with pleasure. I felt my pussy growing hot and tight again, throbbing insistently for yet more relief.
He gently tilted my head back to rinse it, then applied the conditioner in long strokes, massaging my scalp again. He was mere inches from me, and his cock pressed against the cleft of my ass. After awhile, I noticed that he was rocking his hips slightly so that it slipped up and into the cleft. I let this go on for a minute until I could hear his breathing quicken to a pre-orgasm rhythm, then abruptly turned around and smacked his cock with the back of my hand. "Bad little worm!" I scolded, then reached outside of the shower for a washcloth, and handed it to him with a bottle of verbena-scented soap, turning to face him.
"Now wash me well," I said. "Start up here." I cupped my breasts and presented them to him. He licked his lips, eyes downcast. He poured soap onto the white cloth and lathered it up before, hands trembling, he applied it to the tops of my breasts. He used both hands, one with the washcloth, and made gentle circular motions. His bare hand and the soap felt incredible on my breasts, especially when he ran his thumb over my erect nipples. I slid my hands down my stomach and started touching my clit, closing my eyes and letting the sensations take over. He washed my breasts for a good five minutes while I moaned and touched myself, inserting a finger now and then to increase my pleasure. My pussy was luxuriously warm and soft, clenching around my long fingers.
Finally, I opened my eyes. He had stopped washing me, and was just staring. At least he wasn't jerking off.
"Okay," I said, turning. "Now my back, then my ass."
He obeyed, working a light massage into his cleaning. I thrust my ass toward him, daring him to press his cock against me. He was a good boy, and with what must have taken enormous discipline, kept his body parts off of mine. When he reached my ass, his fingers lingered over my tight asshole, then slipped inside my pussy for a moment. I let him get away with it.
"Now, my pussy," I said, and he knelt to thoroughly wash my cunt.
"Next, my legs," I said, and he looked up worshipfully, as if he had just been given the best reward imaginable. He lifted my leg gently and placed it on his knee as he crouched, reverentially stroking my leg with soap more times than necessary. When he got down to my foot, he soaped and rinsed it twice, then looked up at me pleadingly. "May I, mistress?" he pleaded, glancing at my toes. "Not yet," I replied. "Do the other leg."
Once he was done with the other leg and foot, he stood and awaited further instructions. "Wash yourself. And don't you fuck with that cock ring. I'm going to get out and get dried. Remember: you do not have permission to come." He groaned in exasperation, but began soaping his own hair.
I dried off hastily, applied verbena-scented lotion all over my body, then shrugged on one of the hotel's luxuriously soft white robes.