Finally Cynthia / Tub O Cynthia At High Noon

“We have to get you all cleaned up for tonight.” Cynthia announced as she made quick work cleaning up the stubble where there should be no stubble and lovingly grooming the pubic hair where her aesthetic told her it belonged. The bath water was running and the hi-rise bathroom was filling with steam.  The care Cynthia put into my cocks coiffure was not the simple C.N.A. shaving I had received from Cindy. Cynthia was an artist, and often said when she was happy pictures of this puppy were  getting plastered all over the internet. Luckily she has not been sufficiently satisfied with her creation so my genitals have yet to debut on the world wide web.


Shaving finished I leaned back in the tub and enjoyed the sensations of a deluxe bath given by a slender and nearly naked red haired Cynthia. Her loose fitting and open robe gave wonderful visuals during my cleansing. Life was good. I felt the soapy warm water and the large bath sponge wash away tensions.  As the scented liquid ran down my backside I remembered how Cynthia had wept the first time I had given her a bath. Years of caring for a terminally ill husband had occasioned her to give many baths.  Receiving one herself  in such a tender manner made her weep. Since then our mutual bathing has become ritualistic and an intimate part of our Saturday routine. I still give Cynthia baths more often than she gives me for purely selfish reasons. But this morning I was getting deluxe treatment. I knew she was looking forward to the dinner party tonight, but there seemed to be more in this pampering today.

As she bathes me we talk about how long each of us have known Fred and Helen. Cynthia claims better knowledge of the couple they are today even though I have known Fred since childhood and Helen since my late teens, but she is unswayed in her conviction that she knows them better now.  Her delicate hands work my body over using the huge bath sponge with a  little  more vigor than I think necessary until  I finally concede the point. With that she offers to let me pick up where my tongue left off  in the living room. She lets her shorty short silk robe fall to the tile floor and pauses to let my eyes drink her in all her magnificence.

The still damp red hair sits in disarray atop her oval face. Her nose is slender. The tip comes to a pleasing point. Not sharp. Just definitive. Her emerald eyes are on my face. She is watching to see where my eyes fall. Sometimes I think she does this to see if any part of her body registers the slightest disappointment in me. But her breasts are perfect,  round, and sit high upon her flesh covered rib cage. She is slender, but not skinny. Her alabaster skin glows in the less than flattering light provided in this apartment bathroom. I know this game and counter her inquiring eyes with the calming method of looking at everything while looking at nothing. The unfocused gaze of either a wise man, or a  lunatic. I can see a bit of frustration cross her face. I see her perfectly shaped white thighs that are the pillars her heavenly self  is poised upon.  Then I see her eyes fall to the bath water just below my belly button and she grins widely.


“You really have no right to still be that hard after all I have done for you this morning.  I scour this apartment when you are asleep, yet still not a trace of little blue pills.” Cynthia chuckled., “You should be ashamed of yourself.”


“Just listen to yourself you red haired hussy. Standing there unabashed in all the splendor nature has bestowed on you while having thoughts that would make any doxy blush.”


“You have no idea what I am thinking,” she countered.


“I think you should know by now that vino is my vice. Not pharmaceutical bondage.”


“What about women and song.?”


“I like your use of the plural, ” I added to instigate ire, but instead Cynthia’s only response was, “Mmmmm. Women.” While rewarding  me with a cryptic smile.


I reached up and opened my arms in a welcoming manner saying, “I’ll settle for  a little song  now.”


As she steps into the tub her thighs fill my eyes with snowy white.  My hands reach around and grasp her ass lovingly, but since she rudely interrupted my oral homage earlier I am not pleasuring her on command.  This time.  I run my hands gently down the back of  her legs and merely contemplate the splendor between her milky thighs which are now the fingerboard of my fiery red haired sex cello. As my hands move around her knees and back up the length of her thighs I am rewarded with a low tone from her throat as my fingers riff towards her bath soap scented snatch. A little vibrato is applied at first contact with her special self  moistening skin causing Cynthia to drop the bath sponge and lower herself into the tub, causing my finger to slip easily into her readied quim. She leans back in the warm soapy water and sighs her sighs of a siren as my fingers work magic below the soapy waters, gently searching out the places to pitch up and down glissando for effect while applying enough pressure to make Cynthia’s  sighs go from piano to forte.


I watch her perfect breasts pitch and break above the surface calling my hands to surf up her belly and push her breasts up from under for a fond fondle and watch the water stream down her pristine midsection and follow the waters soj0urn as it finds that luscious channel between thigh and tummy flowing towards shaved and scented paradiso al la Cynthia.  On her haunches now  she raises her hips above the waves to afford me special access.


She adjusts herself in the tub again so her knees frame me, forming an armrest. Her feet flat against the tiled wall behind me. Times like this I long for the clawfoot tubs of the past. These shallow built into the wall monstrosities lack the clearance for proper conducting of a watery interlude. I run my now pruney fingers over Cynthia’s knees and tease slowly with traces and tracks down the  inside of her thighs drawing ever closer till feinting a  further plunge into her, then recalling fingers back to their perch on her knees while we chat more about our nights hosts  Fred and Helen.


We are back to how my living out of state all those years may have left a gap in my knowledge of what their lives had become in my absence.


“ Fred and I comment and critique each others work and go over each others portfolios. He has been at it so much longer than I that I am overwhelmed by his body of work. But most of all he really takes pride in the shots of  his wife. It is an expansive  history.”


I must confess a little twinge of jealousy struck me. Life long friends, but still childhood competitors for the affections of early girlfriends.


“She is a timeless beauty indeed.” I added as a fact but also as a tweak guaranteed to gain notice from anyone’s ego, but certainly the ego of the fiery redheaded dish I was splashing with now.


Cynthia took up the challenge and tweaked me right back, either knowingly or unwittingly she scored a big one.


“I found the series Fred took years ago of Helen and her friend Eileen particularly enlightening . But his new series on those two is breathtaking.”

I know my breath had been taken. Now that I was breathless it was best to focus  on the business at hand and take Cynthia before being distracted by phantasmagoria about Eileen.

About symes4u

I came from a good family. But over the years I developed a few ways about me that were not quite right so I am officially Not Safe For Work. What can I say.

Posted on January 30, 2014, in adult, Blogging, erotic, relationships, serial, smut, Snarky and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. Why can’t you write every day?? ;)

  2. Teasing banter that tests the water and the mettle of both slick participants! Gotta love giving as good as you get!

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