Tub Time

A bitter wind scrapes the windows.

I’ve just laid the baby down for bed and the husband is away for the night.

A tea kettle alerts me, piping vocally, apprehensive and excited….

I set up my altar according to the magick I craft tonight.

An engrossing novel and sponge lay idly beside the tub while

Gotan Project stirs the air into whiffs of honey.

Angry wind against my window, you do not bother me tonight,

for I am slowly sinking into a tub filled with fiery elemental goodness.

My nerves are pricked by the shocking heat as I gently ease into my cauldron.

Primitive urges take flight while I pay adoration to my body’s landscape,

gently running fingertips over mountainous breasts,

peaked by alert nipples.

Digits trace to cavernous areas, causing me to pull down my bun of hair;

caution is thrown to the wind as I submerge my head in the water,

my black hair like docile snakes floating about my head,

licking at my neck.

Idle fingers continue their explorations, and the heartbeat heard under

the water beats faster, muffled but steady.

I turn off the internal baby monitor, I power cycle the constant stream of worry.

And I give 100% of my self to myself.

The mixture of Clorox cleanup blends with aromatic soap,

flooding my nostrils as I open my mind’s eye to it’s newest fantasy.

Fingertips trail the sides of the smooth, pristine tub wall,

reminding me of shiny, cold latex.

In my mind, there is no crock pot dinners or group fitness classes.

There is only me, clad in a smooth latex bodysuit,

climbing upon a motorized, piston pumping machine.

I slide down farther into the basin, separating my legs as I tug open the faucet.

The steady pounding stirs the water, whipping ribbons across my most erogenous zones.

My hips instantly begin to rock as I imagine the faceless machine…

it’s figurative leather straps securing my wrists.

Trembling and helpless, my sex is reaching it’s limit.

I dunk my head under the water as I climax,

the faucets’ proverbial tongue lapping up the last of my nectar.

In my fantasy, the machine retracts, still glistening from my moisture.

I push the machine deep into a dark corner, silent for the moment but ever present.

I relish the remainder of my bath as I shave my legs and shampoo my hair.

Throughout the night, my pussy occasionally trembles,

reeling in aftershock and remembering the smooth feel of an anonymous bath partner.