Bathing Minerva

I thought Minerva was implicitly sexy even before the Japanese restaurant incident. Though I didn't know her well, I had noticed that she often had a certain sparkle in her eyes, which convinced me that she was a woman who harbored substantial reserves of erotic potential.

I suppose she must have had her eye on me for some time, but I swear I hadn't picked up on it. For one thing, we'd never even flirted. In retrospect, however, it occurs to me that what I had interpreted as a generally-sexy sparkle may have been a specialized sparkle with my name on it. If so, I was oblivious.

Then came the email from Kate, the Comptroller, asking me--and Minerva--to join her for lunch to look over some budget issues. Minerva, who was a close friend of Kate's, tipped me off that the boss had both good taste and a generous expense account; so I was looking forward to this session. And the fact that I was slowly developing a case of the office hots for Minerva--despite my unawareness of anything in the nature of reciprocation--sweetened the pot.

When we arrived for lunch, we looked around with admiration at the downtown Japanese restaurant that Kate had selected for our meeting. Then we claimed our table and made ourselves comfortable--which was not difficult to do in the dining room's soothing environment.

"I didn't even know there was a restaurant on this block," I remarked, after a server had dropped off menus and three glasses of lemon-kissed water.

"This whole building is part of a Japanese hotel chain, actually," Kate explained. "Fairly new in this town, but I'd already heard good things about it."

"Hey, maybe they have those hi-tech toilets with the automatic 'bidet' function," said Minerva, giving Kate a girl-to-girl nudge in the ribs. "Where we can push a button and get our--you know--bathed in warm water."

I knew what she was talking about, having recently learned of these devices from a cousin who could talk about virtually nothing else after a visit she'd made to Japan. But that had been a cousin, giggling her way through a family picnic. This was an alluring co-worker, broaching the topic of intimately sensuous hygiene experiences at a business lunch. My eyes, which had been trained on the rather captivating menu, now glazed over, and I felt a stiffness begin to take shape in my lap.

Kate was laughing, though when I looked up I saw that her face was red and she was giving me a semi-apologetic look.

But it wasn't Kate's face I was interested in. I studied Minerva's face, and I got the impression that her off-the-cuff tidbit of risqué conversation had been performed for my benefit.

Lunch ran its course. And, though Kate would not have liked to hear this, the one and only thing I took away from the meeting was the acute consciousness that Minerva relished the thought of having her pussy bathed by a dedicated stream of automated water, provided by a solicitous plumbing fixture.

I knew it was going to be difficult concentrating on my afternoon work. All I could think about was Minerva jiggling in a hotel bathroom while a jet of hi-tech water kissed her bare underside.

Not surprisingly, this was still on my mind as I rode the subway home that evening. The thought of any woman being that concretely focused on a sensual pleasure between her thighs would have been somewhat arousing to me. For the woman in question to be someone I found sexually compelling to begin with made the situation intensely erogenous.

I had to masturbate before I even phoned her, lest my voice break or I drool into the mouthpiece. As my eyes closed in self-administered release, I saw images of Minerva's face--just her face, with parted lips and merry eyes testifying to luscious sensations below the waist. Water kissing her there. My fingers stroking her. I hadn't come this hard just from masturbating in a long time.

"Minerva? It's Gary."

She laughed sweetly. "I know."

She did? Caller ID . . . but I'd never phoned her before, nor had she ever called me. So either she'd programmed my number into her phone just in case, or she'd been expecting me to call tonight based on what had transpired at lunch. I liked each of these theories just fine.

"That was a nice lunch today, wasn't it?" I was trying to be subtle--delicate, even.

Another laugh. "You liked hearing me talk about getting my pussy washed, huh?" Though over the course of several months in the same office Minerva and I had never ventured into sexy banter, it seemed now that once she got started, "subtle" did not appear on her menu--nor was "delicate" in her operative vocabulary. This was obviously a woman who bided her time and then went for broke. No problem. If she wanted to play hardball, I was ready to step up to the plate.

"Yes, I did. Of course, talk only goes so far . . . ."

"You sweetie. Are you offering to buy me an automatic bidet for my birthday?"

"I was thinking of something a bit more old-fashioned."

"As in a bathtub?"

"As in my tongue."

Silence. Had I shocked her? Impossible.

"I'll be right over," she finally said, and the phone went dead. She had my address too, I gathered.

She had a sassy grin on her face when she arrived at my apartment. She squeezed my left hand with both of hers as she entered the room, and the contact made me tingle.

"Welcome," I said, a little awkwardly. "Can I get you something?"

"Oh, yeah," she said without missing a beat. "I thought we'd already discussed that."

Hardball. "Fuck, you're sexy," I volunteered.

In an instant, her lips were devouring my mouth and she was squeezing my ass like her life depended on it. She pressed the front of her jeans against my erection in a manner that showed an adroit command of how to simultaneously tease and please, even through two layers of denim.

I was afraid she would make me come just by rubbing herself against me this way, so I pushed my fingers between our groins. As we continued to kiss, I explored the spaces between the buttons on her fly, gently stroking her panties within one or another of the gaps. Fall into the Gap, an old commercial said in my head, but with a lewd connotation that Madison Avenue had probably not intended.

"I love your button-front fly," I said in her ear.

"And I love a guy who knows how to use a button-front fly," she replied. "Oooh--you're doing the same thing to me that I do to myself through my jeans, under my desk. It's as if I gave you lessons."

The information about what she did under her desk, in the office where we worked together, was almost too much for me to handle at that moment. Added to this was the fact that she had removed one hand from my rear and discovered that I, too, sported a button-front. My cock was going wild as she stroked its edges with the slender finger she'd insinuated.

I took the initiative now to get us out of our respective jeans--which meant, for the moment, getting our hands out of each other's jeans. Our shirts, underwear, and socks came off as well--in such a blur that I barely saw Minerva's panties--and soon I was carrying her to my bedroom, her stiff-nippled little breasts pressing into my chest and her fragrant hair grazing my face.

When she was curled up on my sheet with her soft, round behind sticking out in a posture of desire, I had an inspiration. I grabbed something from a bureau drawer. "Be right back," I said as I made a quick dash for the bathroom.

I returned and showed her the silk necktie in my hand. I had saturated it with warm water from the tap, and I rubbed it across the back of her thigh so that she could feel its nurturing texture.

"Would you like me to rub this across you?" I asked, unnecessarily.

"Ohhh," was her simple answer.

To add an additional layer of foreplay to the foreplay, I gently dragged the wet tie across her ass cheeks. Then I kissed the warm, wet streak it had left, while she wriggled her bottom in my face.

"Tell me how good it's going to feel," Minerva said. "Before you do it, just tell me."

"Well," I began. "I'm going to slowly caress your tender pussy with this wet, soft necktie, and it's going to feel very, very good. I can see your slick, pouting lips down there, all ready for the caresses of this silk. I can vividly imagine how this smooth, warm fabric is going to light up every sensor you have in that sweet place between your legs. This necktie, in my hands, is going to make your ass dance with glee."

As if on cue, she gyrated for me. Her left hand grabbed at her clit.

"Yes," I continued, "I expect this is going to feel indescribably good--like your most sensitive, intimate flesh is being bathed in pure pleasure."

"Ohh," she said again, with another delicious wriggle.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it made you . . . ."

"Yes?" she said with urgency.

"Come," I concluded, and I began to make passionate love to her with the specially-prepared tie.

The first thing I noticed, as I held her bottom firm and stroked her slit, was how naturally her own moisture mingled with the liquid that dripped from the tie. Her juice was more viscous than the water, but it flowed freely enough to seep into the fabric, where I knew it would leave stains that I would forever cherish.

Her writhing was slow and sensuous, matching the pace I was setting with the necktie. She rocked from side to side like a little boat on a gentle current, her open sex maintaining contact all the while with the soft tool that pleasured her.

I had pulled the length of tie across her only ten or twelve times when her ass began to throb in my hand with the first signs of orgasm. Suddenly, Minerva reached down and grabbed the tie from me. She dug it inside herself forcefully, riding the edge of the wet fabric and pulling it across her inner flesh as I'd done, analogously, to her exposed outer lips. Her legs kicked up and down on the mattress and she made short, guttural cries. When she finally clenched her cunt muscles together with a vise-like grip, her entire body was shaking.

My cock, now ready to jump on the bandwagon, bounced upon the back of her thigh. "Grab me," I asked, when her orgasm had subsided.

Minerva not only grabbed me in a delicate, rapturous grip, she treated the head of my cock to a taste of her wet, gaping entrance. Within moments, I was shooting all over her crotch, as she directed my spurts from her clit to her uppermost thigh flesh and back again.

We were satisfied, and we collapsed. She toyed with my long, curly hair.

I was spent but not sleepy. Whereas Minerva, evidently, was sleepy but not entirely spent. No sooner had she dozed off, with a hand cupping her own sex, than I noticed her hips twitching, once every ten seconds or so. Every twitch caused her mound to squeeze against her hand, and her mouth opened a little each time this happened. Eventually, the twitches became even more frequent, until she slipped a dainty finger into her slick cunt, squeezed hard, and had an orgasm in her sleep. She exhaled forcefully, nearly articulating a primal "Oh!" in her dreams. I hugged her, relishing a sensuality that could persist even through slumber.

At that point I, too, must have fallen asleep. The next thing I was aware of was Minerva asking if she could use my shower.

The sound of the water was invigorating, and I started to get hard again as I imagined her bending forward to let the stream rush onto her pussy from behind.

When she was finished, I saw that her use of a towel to "cover herself" was as ineffective as it was unnecessary, my towels not really being of full bath-towel size. As she walked past my bed en route to the pile of clothes in the living room, her ass crack smiled wholeheartedly at me from the generous gap left at her rear. I jumped out of bed and followed her.

I stood by the couch and watched her start to dress, and this time I was able to enjoy the sassy lines of her pink bikini panties around her sleek bottom and fetching mound. Then I remembered something.

"On the phone, I promised to tongue you to orgasm," I reminded her.

"We can save that for after dinner," she said sensibly. She joined me by the couch and touched my elbow. "I have some things I'd like to do to you as well, and I think we're both going to need some calories to make it through the night." Then she swatted me playfully on my still-bare butt and walked back to where her jeans lay clumped on the floor. Without bothering to put them on, she retrieved her phone from a pocket, bending her derrière sweetly my way as she did so.

"Now then . . . what should we order?" she said brightly, a vision of nipples, tummy, panties . . . and a face pink with promise.

The End.