Chances Are Chapter 6
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Chances Are...Chapter 12 free porn video
What I did not regret, once I was inside the shower with her, was the view. She was slender, with small, exceptionally firm breasts and slender, almost boyish hips that barely extended out past her taut, entirely flat stomach. She had the body of a professional gymnast, muscular and strong enough, but possessing exceptional agility and flexibility.
I watched her with polite but avid interest as she applied the soap generously and washed her front and sides with a fervor and intensity that could scarcely be believed. Clearly, she had some sort of cleanliness phobia and couldn’t tolerate feeling dirty! I also had to wonder in a polite but abstract sort of way why her small but pointed hard nipples didn’t protrude prominently through her costume. Standing facing the water, frantically soaping her skin almost raw, her back was now towards me and it was soft and smooth and a delight to caress with a gentle soapy washcloth. I carefully washed her, right down to the small of her back, which was a most entrancing feature of hers. Once there, I paused for a long moment, not really daring to continue onwards and touch her ass.
“Keep going, you’re doing a fine job.” She stated, “Get all of the crud off and take as long as you need to. It feels like spiders are walking all over my back, so scrub hard! And go all the way down, since you’re there. Do my cheeks completely, if you would, and in between too. If that plaster or wood pulp has gotten there as well, my costume will be intolerable and there will be nothing my Link can do about it, so please be very thorough.”
She couldn’t be serious! Did she really want me to closely wash her behind ... and inside the butt cheeks too? Well, first I again soaped and scrubbed her back all over once more ... hard, until she grunted with visible relief. Only then, at least ten minutes later, did she agree that every last potential grain of dust, dirt and wood pulp had been scoured away from her back. Now, to deal with her butt cheeks.
To do the job even semi-properly, I needed to get down upon my knees behind her and gently spread out her cheeks, and I began to become aroused nearly at once. Now admiring a view that only her spouse had enjoyed, I soaped and scrubbed away on her taut bare ass. Her hips were admittedly on the slender side, but the overall heart-shaped appearance was still more than pleasing. Then, I washed between her tight cheeks, quickly and with as little intrusion as I dared.
“No ... more inside!” She hissed, flexing her cheeks nervously as if she had an uncontrollable itch. “I can feel stuff still there, all the way in there. You’ve got to get it all out! I just feel it itching and digging into me!” She whined, bending forward a bit and spreading her ass cheeks widely open with both her hands, fully now exhibiting everything she had there to my complete view, just inches away from my nose. It was, as assholes go, quite a cute pink and tight pretty one, and my penis became even more fully erect.
It was intended just a sarcastic joke ... really. After all, this was such an absurd situation that we were in, being her intimate bath attendant, that I spoke almost without thinking.
“Look, if I’m going to scrub any deeper there, you’re going to end up with a bar of soap or a few fingers going up your ass. Really, to get that ... area, any cleaner, I’d have to use my tongue.”
“Oh ... really?” She queried, and without the slightest hint of amusement or irony, “well, if that’s what you need to do get it all really clean and stop the itching, then go use your tongue, and please and be thorough ... I can’t stand the irritation!”
She was fucking serious. Clearly, she didn’t understand humor, or sarcasm either and she’d taken what I’d said absolutely literally! Well ... I guess I wasn’t going to need that soapy washcloth much longer.
While she kept her cheeks fully spread open, I soaped and washed everything one last time, rinsed her all clean, then leaned forward, nose right inside her buns, and I started to apply my oral polishing tool. Her ass was spotlessly clean, but I soon found the task, and the taste of her wet flesh, increasingly appealing.
If she wanted her ass and her asshole licked, well then, I was going to do the job thoroughly!
I scrubbed and polished with my tongue every square inch of her flesh, between her cheeks until only her small pink rosebud was left untasted. “That’s it, right there!” She moaned at me as the tip of my tongue flicked across and around her most intimate passageway. I licked harder, rubbing and then gently probing inside of that tightest of sphincters.
“Deeper!” She moaned, but largely from the pleasure of having an itch finally scratched, rather than cries of erotic pleasure. “Further inside, deeper! Yes! Right there as far as your tongue can reach. Now it’s finally starting to stop itching.”
I ate out her ass hard, stretching open her tight chute to allow my tongue to reach as far inside her as my open mouth would allow. She just kept moaning and spreading out her ass cheeks wider, to allow my frantic tongue to delve as far into her shithole as was possible.
With one final, almost sensual moan of relief and pleasure, she at last stood and let go of her cheeks, turning now quite suddenly to face me. Or rather now, it was her cunt was just inches from my face.
“That will do,” she pronounced, looking down upon me, “that’s finally stopped the itching. Ah ... No, you can get up now and I’ll help you wash yourself. I’m fine now. That part ... there,” she gestured with a finger running across her vaginal lips, just inches from my mouth, “is alright and isn’t itching either. I appreciate the helpful thought, but... Oh! I see that you’re regarding me with sexual interest. Your penis is fully erect.”
Ok ... so she did know what sex, with men anyway, was all about. She couldn’t help but notice my erection, as I now stood up and my blood engorged penis now poked her right in the lower belly, just above her bare pubic mound. Reflexively, she grabbed it with her right hand and tensed her fingers around it for a moment to get a feel for its girth and hardness. I started to back off, to leave the shower, but her grip on my cock held it tight and I stayed.
Then with her left hand, she began to pull back my foreskin, slowly until the full helmet of my cockhead was revealed. She examined it some more, mostly with her eyes, but her fingers of her right hand began to slowly stroke my shaft.
“Your sexual equipment is indeed quite adequate,” she casually remarked as she continued to look over and inspect my groin, “and better in fact than nearly all of the men who took pleasure with me, when I was younger, while in training back home. That one other exception was the son of a god. His body was admittedly flawless, but he was more than a little dimwitted and he prattled constantly, like a foolish girl who never knows when to shut up. I’ve seen only a few males here in such similar circumstances, but they would all compare distinctly inadequate to this.” She admitted, now feeling and cupping my balls with her left hand while her right continued to gently stroke me.
“I can leave,” I said, rather in a bit of a tense hurry, “if you find this uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to bother you. I did find you very pretty and attractive, but then again, you do have a spouse, right?”
“Big Bardeau?” She said, “she’s my legally contracted companion, yes ... but we’ve taken no public or private oaths of sexual exclusivity. Do you really find me attractive? I’ve not enjoyed the act of penetration from a man since I’ve been here. I often find the stress of solving a difficult puzzle, like the traps and devices of this house, or after a big performance, to be arousing. I get so tense from the effort of concentrating that I have to relieve myself afterwards. You’ll be most suitable, I think, and apparently willing, to help me relieve that stress.”
Less than a minute later, still wet but not at all soapy, she had virtually carried me and thrown me on the bed, right onto my back so that she could then climb atop me and immediately mount me. She was very tight, but being the superb athlete she was, she could work her vaginal muscles to admit more of me inside of her, until at last our hip bones connected.
Already, she had a wildness in her eye and she began to display more passion, as she rode me like a bronco for the next three hours, without respite or mercy. A lesser man would have crumbled or perhaps even expired from sheer exhaustion, but I paced myself and let her grind herself off at least a half dozen times until at last her need for a short rest outweighed her mania.
Then, with a smile and a more than sufficiently hard penis, I rolled her onto all fours, so that I could do the hard driving for a while as she moaned with pleasure, her fingers unceasingly rubbing her clit from below. I thrust away inside her from behind for the better part of another hour, until daylight could be seen coming in through my south facing windows. She permitted me my final release without complaint, but it was clear that her need for relief had now been finally satisfied and she was ready for the sexual interlude to conclude.
Surprisingly, she cuddled at once into my arms as we rested in the growing early morning light, with her head resting upon my chest and her left hand fingers idly wandering across my body. First to examine and caress my shoulders and chest hair, but then downwards, until her fingers rested, more or less for keeps, upon my semi-spent cock and testicles, softly fondling them.
Even more surprisingly, she was now quite in the mood to talk, and surprisingly rationally, too. She almost even began to prattle herself.
“That was unusually satisfying,” she softly proclaimed as her cheek rested upon my slowly rising and falling chest. “Quite remarkable, actually ... and I must explore these sensations, and the strength of my releases, with you further when I am more rested. I assume you would be willing?”
“Sure ... if I’m not doing anything else more important at the time.” That was another misguided attempt at humor, but she was relaxed enough now to recognize that I was being frivolous, and she was actually managing a genuine smile, or at least an unusually good imitation of one.
Her mental defenses were now on idle as well, and with a little bit of concentrated effort, I managed to get my gift percolating at long last, but she was still a very difficult woman to read.
“You’re not really from around here,” I casually remarked. This was probably something of an understatement but I wanted to see just how relaxed and almost sociable she actually was. Normal skirts, at least from my home neighborhood, didn’t tend to have sexual experiences with the offspring of deities.
“No, not at all,” she calmly admitted, as she was exploring the different feel of my much smaller male nipples with her teeth, gently. “We’re from quite a faraway place, Bardeau and I, and we came here as exiles. Originally, for just a short visit, to help a friend with a problem, but we’ve stayed ... and will remain here for a while yet. I’ve been studying the career of one of your famous performers, Harry Houdini, with some interest. He had both unusual flair and talent ... for a normal from this world, that is. His private notebooks indicate that he had created seven different potential escapes that he deemed too dangerous to ever attempt trying. I’ve already performed four of them, but the last three challenges are proving more difficult, but I’ll eventually succeed.” Odds were that she was indeed speaking the complete truth. If humor, irony, and sarcasm were alien concepts to her, then so were exaggeration and insincerity. Back wherever she had come from, lying was probably something that only barbarians did.
“Your costume and that yellow gem in your chest,” I then remarked, “you called it your GenesisLink and spoke of it as if it were alive and a part of you.”
“It is, in many ways, but also it is not,” she said, “It’s a tool used by some of the most accomplished warriors of our society, given to me in honor after my return there. I had been sent away as a child, to learn the ways of others ... those that were and likely will forever remain our enemies. Links are uncommon, even among the elders of our people, for not everyone is suited to such a joining. They are both alive, a creature of thought and will, but yet also a machine, a device of advanced craftsmanship. I think you would call it something like an artificial intelligence, but of an extremely advanced design. Link scans the world around me, constantly feeding me information and details far beyond what the flesh alone, our eyes and ears, or even smell, would tell us. Basically, she disassembles the entire world around me and reinterprets it inside my head in any detail that I should require, with complete mathematical probabilities calculated for any conceivable event. This alone makes me the greatest escape artist and stage magician alive, here on your world.”
“I’ll take your word for it, but I’ll have to go sometime and see your show on Broadway. So Link is good at figuring out the probability of things too?”
“Very,” she agreed, “and it can also protect me with force fields or I can direct her energies as a weapon, if necessary. It is a strain, and a constraint distraction, as you might have seen, to handle and process what Link constantly feeds to me with its advanced senses, protecting me in this unfamiliar and sometimes strange and puzzling world.” She stopped then, probably thinking that she’d revealed too much, but she sighed and then continued her explanation.
“Green Canary thinks I’m a bubbleheaded nitwit, constantly distracted and rarely able to focus on anything other than my escape work. Bardeau just thinks I’m too naive, confused by everything and everyone around me. Blackwing too once said that I’m just a fish out of water, and that if I ever hoped to remain sane that I needed to find, or create for myself a quiet secret place where I could relax all my defenses and learn to trust the people around me and try to just be myself, and not my stage persona. I do feel such a peace within me now, here with you ... and that feeling is so rare, so unexpected even, that I scarcely know how to properly enjoy this feeling without guilt.”
“What is your real name then?” I inquired. “Surely, everyone doesn’t constantly just call you just Miss or even Miss Miracle all the time?”
“Mostly they all do,” she sighed, “because that’s how I seem to spend my life on and off stage, and almost always in costume. Sometimes, I just seem to forget that I have flesh under the costume too, and should wear it more often. My birth name is Scotia. It’s a nice name and once in a great while Bardeau even remembers to use it. You can use it too, or if you prefer, my other military name ... Freewing, is good too. That’s the name I earned at the military academy, after being selected as a child. I won that name because of all of the students I was by far the best flier. I became their best warrior as well, until I rejected everything their culture stood for and rebelled ... and then I found my way back home, to my real birth home.”
Haven
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